Little By Little
by Loten
Summary: The Immortals war is over, but for Daine and Numair, the rest of their lives has only just begun - and there's a lot to sort out. Sequel to Lost & Found. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's Note: _**_I know it's taken a while, but here's chapter one of the post-RotG fluff that I've been promising. And it is mostly fluff - don't expect a dramatic plot or even much action. I don't know how long it's going to be yet, but it's going to cover the first few months of Daine and Numair's relationship. It's _not _going to involve anything from Protector of the Small, even though that starts at around this time. Anyone who's ever been in love knows that for the first couple of months you can't think of anything except the other person, so from Daine and Numair's point of view the squabbling over whether girls should be put on probation passed them by completely (at least in my head). There's lots of issues they need to sort out and things they need to discuss before anything actually happens, and then there's the question of when/how their friends find out, and lots of other small things, so that's what I'm dealing with. The rest of the kingdom can go hang itself!_

_You'll see parts from both Daine and Numair's perspective, depending on who ends up working best as 'narrator' for a particular scene. There will be appearances from other characters, but most of the focus is going to be on our two favourite mages - I don't see many of you complaining, somehow. Regarding the title - there are quite a few good songs called Little By Little, including the one by Oasis that gets stuck in your head, but the one I was thinking of here is by a group called Laura and the Lovers. Feel free to google the lyrics. Yes, I'm soppy._**_  
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_So anyway, here's the first chapter, which sees our heroes returning to Corus after the war. _**_  
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**_Obligatory Disclaimer: _**_Actually, most of this story _is_ mine. Unfortunately the characters aren't._**_  
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* * *

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The journey back from Legann was strange. It had been just the two of them for such a long time, but now they were travelling with half the army, or that was what it seemed like. Daine rode off to one side of the main column when she could, avoiding the crowded atmosphere, with only Cloud and Kitten for company a lot of the time – the dragonet flatly refused to leave her side even for a moment. She couldn't even talk to Numair often, since Alanna was keeping him under observation; he wasn't fully healed yet.

Despite that, he seemed remarkably well, given everything that had happened. She had half-expected something similar to the way he had been after Carthak, the quiet withdrawal into himself as he avoided speaking to anyone, but from what she had seen he was more like his old self than she had known him in months. He was more thoughtful, less inclined to casual conversation, but he responded brightly enough when someone spoke to him and seemed surprisingly cheerful. He did have a tendency to look vaguely bewildered occasionally when he thought nobody was watching him, though, which suggested that things hadn't quite sunk in yet.

The nights were the worst, Daine decided. On the road together they slept either side of their small campfire, only a couple of feet apart, usually close enough that she could hear his breathing; but with other people around, that changed. She remembered the first night, when she and Alanna had been setting up their bedding, and the Lioness had stared pointedly at Numair when he had started unpacking his own blankets; the mage had looked blank for some moments before realising what she meant, when he had flushed red and retreated to find somewhere else to sleep. It didn't feel right not having him close when she woke, and with so many humans around her friends among the People wouldn't come near; it made it difficult to sleep.

More than that, though, she knew from what Spots had told her that Numair didn't always do well on his own; he relied on his friends more than he realised. He always had trouble sleeping after anything remotely stressful, and the madness of the past few months certainly qualified; the gelding had turned as possessive as Kitten and practically stood guard over his master every night, much to the mage's amusement.

In addition, not being able to talk to him meant not being able to discuss anything more personal. During the long days of waiting for him to wake up, Daine had had a chance to sort out her thoughts and finally get over the shock of realising just how much their friendship had changed – with help from an unsympathetic Cloud and amused Spots; both horses had found it difficult to believe that she had truly had no idea how Numair felt about her. They had known since after Carthak, they had informed her cheerfully, and was she completely blind and deaf?

Thinking about it now, she smiled, resisting the urge to turn in the saddle and see if she could see him. In hindsight, it had been fairly obvious, and certainly she had known that something important had changed, but with typical two-legger self-delusion she had refused to let herself think about it. It was extremely strange in some ways – she'd never even had a crush on him, after all – but at the same time it made perfect sense, because he was so completely a part of her life that it would destroy her to lose him; she still remembered the darkness in Carthak when she had thought he was dead, and it had felt like the world had ended. She couldn't see any way that she could be with anyone else, even supposing she could find someone else who would calmly accept all the strangeness of her life; Numair had been so much a part of her for so long that she would always be comparing any man to him, and nobody else _could _compare, really.

And, all things considered, it would be rather nice to be able to tell him so. Since the conversation on the walls of Port Legann when she had told him about the choice she had made, they hadn't had any time alone whatsoever, and she missed him. At the same time, being alone with him presented its own set of problems, because she wasn't sure what he was expecting – if anything – and they really did need to talk about what happened next.

Finally she couldn't take it any more, and rode back into the organised chaos of the travelling column to find him. They couldn't discuss anything about their relationship, or anything else really personal, and it was irritating that they would both have to be constantly watching everything they said or did, but at least she would be able to talk to him.

One glance told her that Numair was in pain still, and the first words she said to him when Cloud drew alongside were, "You shouldn't be riding."

"Hello to you too, magelet," he greeted her dryly, smiling slightly and outwardly mildly amused; but his eyes were warm and almost soft as he looked at her, an expression that sent warmth through her, and she smiled back at him as Kitten managed an awkward jump from Cloud's back to Spots to greet the mage with a soft chirp.

"Sorry. Hello. You still shouldn't be riding."

"Keep your voice down. Alanna is driving me insane as it is."

"Is it your hip?" she asked. His injuries had been truly bizarre; Alanna and the other Healers hadn't been able to work out how he got most of them, and he refused to explain. Some of the cuts on his back had looked like they came from blades, but far finer than any sword or knife could have managed; he had had some ugly burns, and some inexplicable bruising on his throat that looked like someone had tried to strangle him, and half the muscles in his body had been badly strained. There had been several internal injuries and some internal bleeding. He had had several broken bones that he had apparently been completely unaware of, and the usual damage caused by being totally and dangerously drained of all his reserves. The worst injury had been his hip; a piece of debris had struck him, somehow, and lodged right against the bone, and then he had walked half way back to Legann on it without noticing, every step causing more damage. He still walked with a limp, although it was healing.

He rolled his eyes at her now, a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, and retorted, "As if you need to ask, when my dear faithful horse has no doubt been giving you full reports every time I so much as sneeze." Spots snorted and twitched an ear innocently, and Daine grinned ruefully. More seriously, Numair added, "Really, I'm fine. It just aches a bit, that's all, and it will ache just as much if I'm stuck in the back of a wagon going mad from boredom. I promise I'm being careful."

"Alanna's been nagging you a lot, I take it?"

"I think I'm being used as a substitute for her absent family. She hasn't got any children to nag, so she's decided I'll do." He turned slightly in the saddle – carefully – to look at her. "How are you faring?"

Knowing that he wouldn't let her get away with anything other than honesty, she glanced around to check that nobody else was close before she answered. "I'm... all right. My dreams have been a bit strange, but nothing as bad as I thought. I don't like travelling like this, though, and – I miss you," she added before she could stop herself saying it.

His eyes softened briefly before his usual flippant grin dislodged the expression for the benefit of anyone who might be watching. "I know, sweet," he said quietly. Raising his voice a little, he added, "It won't be long until we're rid of this noisy mob and back to our usual peaceful rides in the countryside."

"Oh, goody," Daine told him sarcastically, trying to hide a smile – it wasn't much of a description of their usual work, after all. "Apart from your hip, are you all right?" He opened his mouth to answer, and she glared at him warningly, knowing that he would almost certainly try to lie to her.

"Don't look at me like that," he muttered, his eyes gleaming with brief amusement before turning more serious. "I'm getting there."

"Any nightmares?" she asked softly.

"No. For nightmares, I would have to sleep." He half-smiled when she looked at him. "Don't worry so much. You know I don't sleep well when the routine is disrupted. Alanna's making sure I eat..."

"Good," she interrupted. "You've barely eaten anything for months. You've lost a lot of weight." And he hadn't had that much to lose in the first place.

Numair raised an eyebrow. "It's nice that you noticed," he replied, only partly teasing, before he grinned and shook his head. "I could say the same to you, in any case. We've both been under far too much stress with far too little rest." For a moment the carefree mask slipped, and she saw that he was as tired as she felt, still. It felt like they had been constantly on the move for years, rather than months.

"Jon's promised to let us rest when we get back to Corus," she said hopefully. His answering smile was wry; they both knew just how likely that was. The country was in chaos still, and the two of them were going to be needed. They would be lucky to have a couple of days to rest before they were out on the road again.

"We can always hope." He sighed after a moment, looking around briefly to make sure nobody else was close enough to hear. "And I would like to just have a chance to talk, if we can. About Hadensra, and the duel... It's bothering me," he admitted softly, his dark eyes troubled.

"I thought it was, when you wouldn't tell anyone what had happened," Daine said slowly. "I guessed it was bad. I don't think I've ever seen you that badly hurt."

"I thought I'd lost, at one point," he said reflectively. "He was stronger than I was at the time, and more experienced at that sort of fighting. I was telling the truth to the others; I got lucky. If you can call it luck," he added bleakly.

"Was it worse than Dunlath?" she asked quietly; Carthak had been the worst experience of his life, but she knew he held Tristan's fate as the worst thing he had ever done.

Very slowly, he nodded. "Yes – and no. It was... different; less powerful. I mean, it wasn't a word of power, or anything that made me afraid of losing my sense of perspective. It was just... sickening."

Leaning over in the saddle, she touched his arm gently. "All right. We can talk about it when we're home. Maybe sooner if we can get away from everyone for a while?" she asked hopefully.

"Don't tempt me," he replied wryly, looking more cheerful. "The state I'm in, I wouldn't be able to outrun a three-legged rabbit; I certainly can't escape the Lioness in Healer mode." He stretched carefully. "When we're home," he said more seriously, giving her a warm smile. "We'll talk about _everything _then."

* * *

"What are you going to do with yourself now, Numair?" Alanna asked cheerfully.

"What any sane man would do," he replied as he eased his aching body out of the saddle and slid to the ground, wincing as the impact jarred still-sore muscles. "I'm going to have a hot bath and then go to sleep for about the next six months."

"Oh, that sounds nice. If only you were actually going to do that."

He sighed resignedly. "Fine, I'll bite. What _am _I going to do now?"

"You're going to go and see Jon."

"And it can't wait until I've got some sleep?" he asked plaintively. "I haven't seen a real bed in months." Legann's barracks-style quarters had had the same problem he encountered almost everywhere; camp cots were never designed for men who were six foot five. Unless he wanted to sleep curled up in a ball, he usually slept on the floor. More than that, he missed his own room, his own bed and his own things.

"Numair," Alanna said unusually seriously, "for weeks he thought you were dead. He hasn't seen you since Midsummer. Go and talk to him."

He blinked at her and nodded slowly, realising that she had a point. It must have been hard for their friends; he'd only seen glimpses of it. And Jon did have a tendency to blame himself; no doubt he had rationalised it and concluded that because he had sent the pair of them after the Skinners, it had therefore been his fault. "All right," he agreed quietly, feeling oddly off balance.

"Good boy," she told him, sounding more like the Lioness. "He won't keep you long; you still look pretty beaten up. Then you can go and sleep – as long as you promise to eat something first."

"Yes, Mother," he sighed.

* * *

He was more than a little startled when Jon actually hugged him on seeing him; most northern men tended to avoid any contact beyond a handshake or a rough shoulder punch, in his experience, and although Numair didn't have that particular issue he wasn't really physically demonstrative most of the time. Automatically responding, he found himself remembering something Daine had asked him once – why was it apparently only acceptable for men to hug one another if they also slapped each other roughly on the back at the same time? Given that he still felt a little stiff and ill-used, he could have done without it.

"Even by your standards, Numair, this is utterly unbelievable," Jon said calmly as though nothing had happened, motioning him to a chair.

He smiled wryly. "Tell me about it. _I_ find it pretty hard to believe, and I was there. I know I say this every time, but this time it really wasn't my fault."

"You look terrible, you know."

Numair frowned. "Thank you?"

"I'm serious. You look older than I do."

"Well, thanks, Jon. I'm glad we've had this little talk," he replied sourly.

The king grinned at him. "Sorry. But you looked worse at Midsummer, you know, and you're obviously still healing – Alanna's already warned me not to keep you too long," he added wryly. "Anyway, my point is that whatever happened to you seems to have resolved itself."

"I don't know what you mean," Numair replied automatically, wondering tiredly if it was written on his forehead.

"None of us are blind, Numair, and you've been seriously depressed since the spring. There was obviously something wrong, and now it seems to be better, that's all. Don't get defensive; I'm trying to be nice."

Reluctantly, he smiled. "By telling me that I look older than you do? I feel all warm inside."

"I was _trying _to say that you're improving. In a month or two you should be back to your old self; which is good, because we're going to need you."

"Well, that doesn't sound at all ominous," he replied lightly, glad to shift the conversation away from dangerous waters.

"There's a specific reason I wanted to talk to you, but first, I need to ask you something. Can you replace the barrier between the realms?"

"No," he replied instantly. "I told you over the winter that I couldn't."

"Would you be willing to research it?"

Numair hesitated. "No, Jon," he said quietly after a moment. "I won't be a part of any attempt to recreate the barrier."

"Will you tell me why?"

He struggled with it; it wasn't easy to explain, not in a manner that the king would understand, and he definitely didn't want to draw any more attention to what Daine had been through – he was the only one who knew about that, and he intended to keep it that way. Finally he said simply, "Because I don't think it's right."

Jon frowned. "Really?"

He nodded slowly. "The barrier was planned and executed by mortal men. It was never intended to be there. The immortals have as much right to be here as we do, Jon. The gods made them as well as us. And they aren't all monsters. Even the ones that are serve a purpose. Humans need predators to remind us that we are mortal. I don't have the right to try and change that, even if I did have the power." He at least owed Rikash this much.

The silence that followed made him nervous. Even after all these years, he couldn't quite shake off the Carthaki way of thinking; to defy the Emperor in such a way would mean instant death, if you were lucky, or very slow death if you weren't. Finally Jon shrugged and smiled. "I can't say I like that reasoning, Numair, but I suppose you have a point, and you've more than earned the right to refuse something on moral grounds – although I admit it's a bit of a surprise to find out that you actually have morals," he added.

Startled, he grinned and gave his king an outraged look. "Charming. If this is the thanks I get, next time you can stop your own damned war." _Even if I was indirectly responsible for starting it in the first place, _he added silently. Ripping the realms apart to get revenge on two mortals (well, mostly mortals) seemed a little excessive, but that was Ozorne for you.

"Ah, it's interesting that you mention that. That's what I actually wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh?"

Jon nodded slowly. "I still find it all a bit difficult to accept, but you and Daine achieved something incredible. You may have literally saved the world, or at least the mortal realm. That deserves a reward."

Numair stared at him for a long moment, then started laughing. Judging by Jon's expression, that hadn't been the response he had been expecting, but... a reward? The idea was almost ludicrously funny, and he suspected he was more tired than he had thought. "What on earth for, Jon? You know that's not why we did it. It was our home we were saving. Everything else was more or less a happy afterthought. Don't get it all out of proportion."

"Numair," the king said in a slow and kindly talking-to-idiots voice, "the pair of you travelled to the Realms of the Gods and were given instructions on how to stop the Queen of Chaos from Gainel the Dream Master himself, before showing up on _dragons _and winning the war in a matter of days. _Don't get it out of proportion?_"

Still laughing, he gave in. "Well, I suppose, if you put it like that. But we don't need a reward, or particularly want one, come to that. You can ask Daine if you like, but I'm sure she'll tell you the same thing. I have everything I want already," he said more quietly, aware as always of the invisible chain on his wrist and fighting the sudden mad urge to grin – something he'd been struggling with more or less since... well, if he was honest, since the Stonemaze. "You can't even elevate us to the nobility, as neither of us are Tortallan by birth," he added with some relief – he would make a terrible lord, and Daine would probably quite literally die of embarrassment.

"There must be _something._"

Settling back in his chair, Numair thought about it tiredly, and after a moment he grinned as a sudden idea struck him. "Well, now that I think of it, I wouldn't mind moving to a proper suite of rooms," he said reflectively. "My quarters here in the palace were only ever supposed to be temporary, with the tower as my permanent home. I don't think that's really going to happen for years yet, given the current circumstances, so having somewhere more permanent here would be nice..." After all, he had _someday _to plan for. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself, but he was feeling unusually optimistic.

"I see," Jon managed in a carefully emotionless voice. "And what about Daine?"

He considered it. She did deserve a reward, of course, but in all honesty he couldn't really think of anything she would want. Except, apparently, him... _Focus, Numair, _he chided himself, fighting off a grin again. He really hoped he'd get used to this soon, because he felt like an idiot. "She did mention in the spring that the stables could use a new roof," he offered mischievously, trying not to laugh at the expression on Jon's face.

The king buried his head in his hands. "Bigger rooms and a stable roof. That's _it? _Mithros, Numair, the pair of you are utterly impossible."

"It's part of our charm," he replied, doing his best to look innocent.

"Just go away."

"As your Majesty commands."

As he left, Numair could hear Jon starting to laugh, and found himself grinning as he went in search of something to eat and a hot bath before preparing to enjoy the chance to sleep in his own bed without any desperate crises to disturb him.

* * *

_Look, everyone, I've mostly got over my writer's block! And look, Daine gets to be the introspective one for once. It's about time she thought about things a bit. She and Numair have a lot to talk about over the next couple of chapters. I included some Numair/Alanna banter too, and then Jon got to learn - again - that these are _not _normal people. But really, what could he possibly offer either of them as a reward?_

_And why _do_ men always have to slap each other when they hug? If I have any male reviewers, I'd be interested to hear your thoughts on this!_

_Anyway, the judging for the Knighthood of Ficship contest ends tomorrow, so when I next update this I'll hopefully know where my two stories were placed. Fingers crossed, eh? As always, please read and review, loves.  
_

_**Loten.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Notes: **__Firstly, the results for the Knighthood of Ficship contest are in - Divine Intervention got fourth place and Lost & Found got third. Thanks again to all of you - if it had just been dependent on your votes, I'd have won a landslide victory! Seriously, thank you all so much._

_On a lighter note, I asked my dad about the back-slapping thing - even he wasn't sure, but finally he managed to say that it's something to do with asserting masculinity. He couldn't explain why men hug each other in the first place if they're so insecure about doing so, though. I don't seem to have any male reviewers at all, which is surprising. Unless you're all just too embarrassed to admit it? Heh._

_Now, onwards we go, to the first of what will probably be many conversations. There really is a lot for this pair to sort out.  
_

* * *

"Numair, do you even know what's in half these boxes?" Daine asked him. "This one doesn't look like it's been opened in years."

"It probably hasn't," he replied ruefully. "I haven't really been back to the tower for years except to grab a particular book I needed for whatever the current crisis was. Half my possessions have just been sitting there in boxes because I never had the time to unpack."

She gave him a look. "And it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that whenever you're at the tower you find a book you forgot you had and disappear into it for days, I s'pose?"

"Of course not," he replied innocently, grinning at her. "I think this box is just papers, actually. There's quite a few boxes like that; Lindhall kept every single piece of work I'd ever done and shipped them all over to me once I told him where I was."

It turned out that Jon hadn't been able to come up with anything better, at least not yet, so Numair was now sorting through a lifetime's worth of clutter and moving what he wanted to keep into an empty suite of rooms at the far end of the teacher's wing. The king kept threatening to think of a proper reward, but there was no sign of it so far. Daine had volunteered to help; he suspected that was mostly for the chance to nose through his possessions, but since nobody else wanted to offer their aid it was also a nice chance to just spend some time together. The last couple of weeks had been extremely busy.

"Have you seen Lindhall recently?" she asked now.

He smiled, remembering. "Yes, a few days ago. It was... interesting. I don't think he could decide whether to hug me or strangle me." He'd never seen the older mage actually cry before; that meeting had touched him more than he was willing to admit. Lindhall had been more of a father to him than his own flesh and blood had ever been.

"Well, this was the third time you'd left him thinking you were dead," Daine pointed out. "At least I've only had to go through it once. So far," she added dryly.

"And none of those occasions were my fault," he replied automatically, grinning over his shoulder at her as he dumped the box of papers into the room he'd picked as a study. "Kit, don't touch that, you won't like it," he warned the dragonet absently, with no real faith that she would listen. The small immortal was absolutely fascinated with a lot of the things that had been lying around his former study; frankly even Numair didn't remember what all of them were for. _I should have done this years ago. I didn't think I owned this much stuff._

"So you keep saying. Speaking of people strangling you..."

He blinked and turned, giving her a quizzical glance before realising what she meant. His smile fading, he touched his throat uneasily and swallowed reflexively. "You want to know what happened."

"No – well, yes," she admitted. "But you did say you want to talk about it. And honestly, Numair, we've so much else to talk about as well that if we don't start somewhere soon we'll never get the chance."

"A good point, as always, magelet," he replied, before looking around somewhat ironically at the dusty room filled with boxes. "I don't have any actual furniture in here at the moment, though. Come with me." He padded through what would eventually be his bedroom to the reason why he'd chosen these rooms in the first place, and opened a door out onto a balcony.

"Oh, this is nice," she approved, before grinning at him. "Stargazing, I assume?"

Numair did his best to look innocent, smiling back at her. That had certainly been one reason why he'd wanted the balcony, but the main reason was the steps leading from it down to the ground; he was planning ahead and sincerely hoped that someday they would be sharing these rooms, and since this was Daine that meant sharing with assorted animals as well, so having another way in and out was important. He didn't intend admitting that yet, though, because it was certainly pushing his luck to look that far ahead.

Now he sat at the top of the steps, relieved to get out of the dust and get some fresh air for a while; he'd spent quite a bit of the last few days in various meetings of one sort or another, and he wanted a chance to be outside before it turned cold. Daine sat next to him and promptly installed herself under his arm, leaning against him; smiling, he shifted slightly to lean back against the wall and made a valiant attempt to focus on something other than her presence in his arms. "What did I actually tell you about the duel?"

"Not much. You said it was the hardest fight you'd ever had, and that you'd been lucky, that he was stronger than you were because you'd been fighting so much before. And on the way back from Legann you told me it was bothering you, so I guessed you'd had to do something bad to beat him. And I listened to Alanna and the other Healers talking about your injuries. It _did_ look like you'd been strangled..."

He nodded. "I was." Blinking, Daine turned slightly to look up at him. "It wasn't anything like what you saw when I fought with Tristan. That was... almost like an exhibition, rather than a real duel, at least until the end. Fighting Hadensra was... vicious, really, in comparison." Remembering the analogy he'd used to himself during the fight, he explained, "It was the difference between those pretty mock-battles the knights in shiny armour put on during tournaments, and a real melee in the field. There aren't any rules when mages duel. It's one reason we don't do it very often – if I hadn't persuaded him to shield the area, we'd have ripped the land apart for miles." Breathing out, he closed his eyes for a moment, remembering.

"I won't bother describing all the spells we used. It wouldn't mean much to you anyway, it's not really important, and to be honest I can't remember them all. I was reacting out of reflex a lot of the time; there wasn't time to think. I don't know how long it went on for, but eventually we both started running out of power. You know what I'd been doing since Midwinter; I'd used up all of my reserves. Normally I would have been the stronger, but he had more to draw on than I did. I realised that I would run out of magic first, so I had to do something different."

His arm tightened around her shoulders as he remembered what it had involved, and he tried not to shiver. "You remember me telling you once that a lot of what Gifted mages can do with their magic is governed by their emotions?"

She nodded, leaning against his shoulder in a way that suggested he hadn't been successful in controlling his reaction. "After Dunlath, when you were explaining to me about the words of power. You said that certain spells worked because the mage wanted them to work, a bit like when I was first learning to heal and it was my will that kept it going until it was finished."

"Yes. There's another side to that, one that not many mages study very closely. In certain circumstances it's possible for a mage to use his emotions to fuel his magic, if he doesn't have enough purely physical power. It's something we're discouraged from doing, for a variety of reasons; magic used like that is less predictable and harder to control, and it affects the mage who does it, makes them less stable – although with me it's probably hard to tell," he added wryly.

She smiled briefly before her expression turned serious once more; Kitten had squeezed between them and was perched a couple of steps down, watching them both. _I do have a very strange family, _Numair told himself, not for the first time. Drumming his fingers on his thigh, he continued speaking softly.

"A lot of dark mages do it regularly, because it does amplify magic and make it more powerful. Many of the forbidden magics are fuelled by anger, or hate, or sometimes fear." They were treading very close to the topic he really didn't want to think about, but he kept his voice even. "Very few know this, but it doesn't have to be the mage's emotions. There are ways of using someone else's feelings to boost your own magic. It's... black magic, pure and simple, and never benign. I've never seen it done, thank the gods, but I've read about it." No, he still wasn't ready for this conversation; he took a breath. "I'm wandering off the point again."

"You, get distracted?" she asked playfully, although it didn't hide her concern as she looked at him. "Never."

Despite his current mood, Numair smiled at her. "_Anyway,_" he said pointedly, "my point was that Hadensra probably did something similar all the time, but I never really have. So I had quite a lot of repressed potential energy available – you know most of what I've done in my life, so I'm sure you can imagine that I possibly had quite a few issues I hadn't worked through," he added dryly.

"So you used all of that to attack him?"

He nodded. "I dragged it all up, all the things I don't think about, or talk about, and I pushed it all through the staff your father gave me, and I hit Hadensra with everything I had left."

"What happened to the staff? I don't remember you having it when I found you."

He smiled a little ruefully. "I overloaded it. It... exploded," he admitted, amused to realise now with the benefit of hindsight that it was exactly the same thing that happened whenever he tried to light a candle with his Gift – only a little more violent. "That's what happened to my hip, by the way – it was a piece of the staff. At least, I think so. It caused a few of my other injuries, too – I ended up damaging myself almost as much as Hadensra, ironically. I think that's the only reason why it didn't quite work; apart from the word of power in Dunlath, I've never used so much raw power at once."

"That didn't kill him?"

"No. And it drained me completely; I had absolutely nothing left."

"So what did you do?" she asked softly, her eyes darkening a little as she realised just how close he had come to death.

Numair grinned. "I punched him in the face."

"You did _what?_"

Laughing softly, he repeated, "I punched him in the face."

Daine stared at him. "Why?" she asked, in a tone that implied she was reassessing his sanity.

"It's actually one of the best things you can do, if you're threatened by a mage," he explained. "Our training almost never involves anything physical; we get used to relying on our Gift for everything, and in most cases a purely physical attack confuses us. Hadensra was completely unprepared for it." It had actually been extremely satisfying to land a solid blow right in the Scanran's mouth.

"It wouldn't work on you, though, would it? You helped teach me to fight."

True. In fact, he'd taught her quite a few tricks that weren't strictly speaking appropriate for young women to learn; Numair was quite good at real dirty fighting. "I'm not normal," he replied, straight-faced. "And I was a small, skinny boy with odd habits and a smart mouth. I got into a _lot _of fights when I was young. Also, you know I can't use my magic for the small things, like lighting candles – I learned not to automatically try magic as my first option."

"So you punched Hadensra in the face?"

"I did. I think it actually offended him, more than truly hurt him," he said thoughtfully. "It certainly made him very angry. I think he thought I should respect him enough to keep our encounter above the level of a tavern brawl, or something. Anyway, he hit me back, and it all got very violent... I was pretty close to collapse by then, and the man was built like a bear, so he got the upper hand. That's when he started to strangle me; he had me pinned down, and luckily for me he was too angry to think of a spell." The humour faded; the next part wasn't funny. He took a shaky breath and said unhappily, "I had nothing left. I couldn't even breathe, let alone move. So... I met his eyes. His eye, rather."

She looked confused for a moment before drawing in a sharp breath that was almost, but not quite, a gasp. Nobody else would have known what Numair meant, except for Lindhall; he hadn't been stupid enough to tell anyone, when he had learned aged seventeen or eighteen that he could capture someone with his eyes, but he'd told Daine when he'd taught her how to recognise when a mage was doing it. "You mean..."

"Yes." He closed his eyes. "I had no power left, but he did. So I broke into his mind, and I made him kill himself," he ended starkly. "That's why my burns were so strange. He was still on top of me when..." He stopped and swallowed as bile burned the back of his throat, trying not to start shaking. In that moment, he'd broken all his rules and gone against everything he believed about magic, what it was and what it should or should not be used for.

After a moment the reflex reaction eased and he could breathe again. Daine had pulled back just far enough to look at him; apprehensively he watched her expression, not sure how she was going to react. She had already known he could do it, but... Her eyes were distant and thoughtful, warmed by a touch of sympathy, and he cautiously allowed himself to relax a little. "Was there anything else you could have done?" she asked softly.

"There was one other choice, my final option – the one I would have used if catching his eye hadn't worked."

"What was that?"

He exhaled slowly. "A spell that would have killed us both, and anything else that happened to be alive inside the circle of our shield." A suicide spell; there was no way for the caster to survive it. It was the ultimate last resort.

She shivered against him. "I'm glad you didn't have to pick that option," she said matter-of-factly, and Numair relaxed fully, smiling slightly as she looked up at him before resting her head on his chest once more. "Thank you for telling me."

"Thank you for listening, sweet." After a moment he reluctantly took his arm from her shoulders. "Come on. We both know we're likely to be sent out in the next couple of days, and I'd like to at least have somewhere to sleep when we get back."

* * *

_There's no description anywhere of what Numair and Daine's rooms are actually like, but the teacher's wing isn't on the ground floor - if you remember, in First Test when Numair interrupts the pages fighting, he's standing at the top of the stairs. But given how important it is for Daine to have animals around her, it seems logical to me that there would be some sort of access to the ground, so I gave them a balcony with a private stair down into the grounds somewhere. Daine hasn't realised yet why he's chosen these rooms, but she'll work it out eventually._

_This is mostly a recap of the duel from Lost & Found, I realise that, but Daine needed to hear it, and it's a chance for me to explain why Numair acted the way he did - he wasn't in very good shape at the time, so I couldn't have him think about it then._

_And yes, Daine did know that Numair can basically hypnotise people. You haven't seen that yet, but there's going to be a few Lacunae updates that deal with lessons and Numair teaching her about the Gift - mostly so I can ramble about what I think the Gift is, and also so I can practice magical lessons ready for when I eventually get around to writing about Arram._

_Next chapter brings more conversations - more personal ones, this time. You can expect a fair amount of awkwardness and the start of something fluffy. As the title implies, we're taking things nice and slowly, one step at a time.  
_

_**Loten.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Notes: **Uncomfortable conversations ahead! Heh. The first section of this is pretty much entirely **KrisEleven**'s fault and I accept no responsibility for subjecting you to it.  
_

* * *

True to his prediction, it was the next day when they were given their first assignment, and it was oddly comforting to settle into the familiar routine of packing and departing. _I think I actually missed this, _Numair reflected as they rode into the well-known shadows of the Royal Forest. _Maybe I damaged my head more than I realised. _It did feel strangely pleasant to be out on the road again, and yet at the same time there was an unmistakeable tension in the air that rather took the fun out of it.

They had been riding for almost an hour when Daine broke the silence. "Numair..."

"I know," he said quietly. "We still need to talk. About us." He tried to ignore the stupid little voice in his head that really liked the way it sounded when he said _us_; this was too important for distractions.

She nodded slowly. "What... what happens next?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "That's why we need to talk about it." He paused, considering; he'd spent most of last night thinking about this, since it would be days yet before his erratic sleep cycle evened out and he wouldn't be able to sleep properly until this was settled. "I am quite a bit older than you are," he began carefully.

"Don't start that again," she snapped, turning in the saddle to glare at him, and he grinned despite himself, holding his hands up in surrender.

"I'm not. That's not what I was going to say." The age difference still bothered him a little, but not as much as it had done, and after so long knowing Daine he recognised a fight he was never going to win. Mollified, she gave him a last warning look before settling to listen uncertainly.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted... I am older than you are, and more experienced," he said slowly, feeling horribly self conscious. This wasn't a topic he particularly wanted to discuss with anyone, but it was important. "In many ways this is new to me too, you know. I've never felt quite like this. But I have known other women, and it's something we need to face. I know what you thought I wanted, back in the Divine Realms."

"I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean to hurt you. But... I thought..."

"I know. It's all right. And I won't deny that's part of it. I've realised over the years that you don't have a very high opinion of me as far as women are concerned – in fact, most of my friends don't. I'm not blaming you, you don't need to apologise," he added before she could say anything. "It's perfectly understandable. I'm hardly a paragon of virtue, and my friends all have their own stories to tell." Pausing, he said carefully, "But there haven't been as many women as you might think." More lightly, he added, "Certainly not as many as rumour suggests. I'd never have time to sleep."

Glancing at her, he was rewarded by the faintest hint of a smile. Encouraged, he continued cautiously, "When I first came to Corus – once I had settled down and started to work out what my life was going to be – I admit, I earned that reputation. But you need to consider the context. I was twenty one or twenty two when Alanna found me – it was around my birthday; I can't remember the exact date – and that's not an age when a man's capable of much in the way of good judgement. In addition, I had thought I was going to die – I very nearly did die. So I wanted to prove to myself that I was still alive, and that was one of the ways I chose. It's not a time I'm particularly proud of, and it's caused me a lot of problems since; it's given me a reputation that's almost impossible to shake off.

"I know I flirt a lot, but I think a great many people would be surprised to learn how seldom that led to anything more. There are a lot of reasons for that... I suppose one of the main ones is – well, think about some of the women I'm rumoured to have slept with. They're all nobles, court ladies, and they're almost all hoping to marry well someday; they wouldn't ruin their reputations with casual dalliances, and I'm fairly low-born. I flirt and dance for the same reason they do – because it's fun. It usually doesn't mean anything beyond that. That ties in with the other main reason – my lifestyle. We come and go all the time, neither of us have much of a home life; even if it was what I wanted, I'd never be able to sustain a 'normal' married life with a 'normal' woman of the court.

"Truthfully, I never expected to end up with anyone at all, not once I realised what my life would be like. People who are willing to look beyond the black robe are rare; I don't have many friends. So I've never really sought any kind of relationship, not since I came to Tortall, because there didn't seem much point when it simply wouldn't work. I realised years ago that it would need to be an exceptional kind of woman to put up with me, and if that kind of woman wasn't around there was no point in trying to make someone else fit that ideal.

"With that said, though, there have been women, over the years. I'm only human, after all." He wasn't looking at her now, staring fixedly over Spots' ears and devoting rather more energy than he was happy with to the simple task of not blushing. _You're thirty, not thirteen. Grow up. _"That's... it almost has nothing to do with this conversation, because it has nothing to do with real relationships. You're an adult, and you've seen enough of the world to know what I'm talking about. It's... a night or two, here and there, when I needed it. Again, not that often – partly because there aren't many women happy with that sort of situation, and I won't lie and promise more than I'm willing to give, but mostly because it doesn't really help.

"Do you remember your first Beltane here? I told you then that I felt it should mean something more. It's the same principle, really. As I grew older, I realised it wasn't enough. It's – hollow, and false. And then I met you, and not long after that, the rumours about us started, and I realised I hadn't got a hope of changing anyone's mind about the sort of man I was and that it was going to hurt you because of it." He smiled grimly, remembering; that was the first time he'd truly opened his eyes and actually assessed his personal life and realised just how shaming it was. _Seems the gossips were finally right about something... _After a moment his smile turned more wistful. "And, after a while, I realised I preferred spending my evenings teaching you, or talking with my friends, that I felt less lonely and less ashamed of myself."

Numair paused, realising just how much he'd been rambling, and shook his head wryly. "And this is all a very long-winded way of trying to explain that sex isn't as much of an issue as you might have thought, and it doesn't necessarily have much to do with love. I won't deny that I want you," he added bluntly, "but it's really not that important. I meant what I said, back in Legann. I'll wait as long as you need me to."

Steeling himself, he risked a glance at Daine; she was studying him pensively, absently biting her lower lip in the way that meant she was deep in thought, but she also looked considerably more relaxed and less nervous than she had. _Thank the gods for that. I'd feel really stupid if I'd said all that and she was actually worried about something else entirely. _It also confirmed his opinion of the kind of male who had been interested in her before now – although to be honest, they were no different from any other teenage boys.

"I never really knew any of that, before," she said thoughtfully after a while. To his surprise, she grinned at him. "You're actually a romantic. You've been looking for a happy ever after."

"I'll deny it until I pass out from lack of air," he replied, feeling somewhat embarrassed. "It's not completely true, anyway," he added more quietly. "I never really bothered looking, because I didn't believe I'd find it." _Mithros, I sound like I should be writing really dreadful ballads. _Taking a breath, he made an attempt to compose himself. "If you want to ask anything about my past, you can. I'll try and answer honestly."

She bit her lip again. "What.... what about Varice?" she asked cautiously.

Numair sighed. "Varice was a mistake, one that caused us both a lot of pain in the end. Our relationship started... more or less by accident. We got along well enough, we liked one another, and it was easier to continue that than look elsewhere – as callous as that sounds now. We were together almost two years. I think, if I'm honest, I knew after a few months that it wasn't going to work, but I didn't have the courage to end it. We were very different people with very different goals in life – well, I didn't really know _what _I wanted then, which made it worse. I wasn't mature enough for anything long term then. I thought at the time that I loved her, or I told myself that I did, but I had no idea what I was talking about, really. It's very complicated – I had no real relationship skills to build on; my family life was... complicated too, for lack of a better word, but it didn't give me much of a foundation. Lindhall was the only real constant, and it wasn't the sort of connection I could use to build others. That's one reason I still find it hard to make friends, really, and it's one reason why Ozorne ended up hating me so much. It's a very long story, but that's the short version."

"And... last year?"

"I don't even know what that was," he replied tiredly. "Everything about our trip to Carthak was a total mess. I was terrified, and very alone because I couldn't even tell you what I thought was going on, and there were so many undercurrents. I'm pretty sure the Graveyard Hag was interfering – that had nothing to do with Varice, but it didn't help my state of mind and it made it more difficult to think rationally. It was another mistake, in the end."

"I'm sorry to bring it up."

"Don't be," he replied instantly, turning to look at her and doing his best to smile. "I want you to be able to ask about anything that's worrying you. I don't know much about relationships, but I know we're never going to get anywhere if we can't talk to each other." After a moment she returned his smile, and they rode on more quietly, the atmosphere considerably less tense.

* * *

When they stopped for lunch, Daine ventured, "Numair... I've thought of some more questions."

He smiled wryly and made himself more comfortable on the grass. The ground was getting chilly; autumn wasn't far away. "You're good at that," he observed dryly, evidently recognising from her tone that these questions weren't going to be quite as painful as the earlier ones. "Go ahead."

"When – when did you realise?"

"Ah." He gave her a sheepish glance before looking away; his expression was the one that usually meant he'd done something stupid. "Midwinter," he admitted softly. "When the barrier fell. Which did nothing for my state of mind."

She blinked at him. _That long? _He'd known for half a year and said nothing? Frowning, she thought back, and gradually the pieces began to fall into place – the odd looks, the silences, the times when he seemed to catch himself and hesitate, his general unhappy attitude. "Well," she said faintly, "I s'pose that explains a lot."

He grimaced and smiled sheepishly. "I was acting a bit strange, wasn't I," he agreed ruefully.

"Just a bit." Biting her lip, she asked, "Why didn't you say anything?"

Numair raised an eyebrow and simply looked at her levelly, and after a moment she nodded, accepting the rebuke. It had been a stupid question – she knew why he hadn't said anything. His protective streak was annoying sometimes, but in this case he had also been motivated by his surprisingly deep insecurity.

"When did _you _realise?" he asked, his expression a blend of uncertainty and curiosity, and now it was her turn to feel embarrassed – especially as, unlike Numair, _she _could hear the horses laughing at her.

"Um... I didn't, really," she admitted, fidgeting. "Not until after you kissed me, when we were talking by the river."

It was his turn to blink at her. "Really?"

Daine scowled at the remains of her lunch. "I knew something had changed. I think, deep down, I already knew. But I didn't let myself think about it. I didn't _want _to think about it, in case it ruined everything."

"I can understand that," he muttered, before adding with a hint of humour, "I think you're about the only person who didn't know, then."

Almost against her will, she smiled at him. "I've had the People laughing at me for weeks."

"Oh, yes?" he said playfully. "Well, I had animal gods, dragons and Stormwings all laughing at me." He shook his head and grinned at her. "I think we both missed the obvious, really."

She nodded agreement. "When do you think it started?" This was an answer she hadn't been able to work out. There didn't seem to have been a starting point.

Apparently he had been thinking about it as well, since he answered quickly, "I don't know, magelet, I really don't." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "I'm... not sure it did, really, not the way most people would think of it. When I think back... I can't really remember not feeling like this. I mean –"

"I know what you mean, I think," she assured him, frowning as she considered it. "It's like – like we've both been... waiting. I wasn't old enough until now." She'd said it herself, in the Divine Realms – she thought that in a way she'd always loved him. "It sounds strange, doesn't it?"

"Oh, I don't know," Numair said thoughtfully, smiling. "By our standards, it's positively mundane." She had to smile at that, admitting that he had a point.

"Do you think it started in Carthak?"

He tilted his head and gave her a quizzical look. "Why?"

Daine hesitated. "Ozorne knew," she said finally. His eyes darkened at the name, but he didn't react, listening quietly. "The night he drugged me – I didn't remember until afterwards – he told me that he knew you loved me and that you'd be coming after me, so he'd get us both."

Numair's expression wasn't particularly happy. "He was completely insane, but he wasn't stupid," he said finally. "I think part of me realised then just how important you were, what you meant to me. I've never been so terrified in my entire life. I don't know – I think I've never really felt the need to analyse it. It's as if part of me knew how I felt, so I didn't need to think about it, if that makes sense."

She nodded. "Exactly." After a few minutes she added slowly, "And I think I might have realised in Carthak, too..."

"When Kaddar told you I'd been executed?" he asked softly; she knew he still felt guilty about that.

Remembering her earlier thoughts on the ride back to Corus, she nodded. "It felt like the world had ended. Nothing seemed to matter any more, except making sure that someone paid for it. But..." Trying not to blush, she admitted, "before then, too. I was – I really, really hated Varice."

He looked at her in surprise and smiled delightedly. "Really?"

"Stop looking so smug," she muttered, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry. I just... I don't think I've ever made someone jealous before." He looked honestly pleased, in an innocent way that made it hard to feel angry with him.

"Maybe you just didn't notice," she needled him. "You seem pretty good at missing things."

He grinned. "If _you _didn't know how you felt, I fail to see how I was supposed to know."

"Seems everyone else did." She frowned thoughtfully. "I wonder if Ma and Da knew?"

To her surprise, Numair went red. "They knew." She looked at him and he stared at the ground, almost squirming. "Your parents are gods, Daine. They could read my thoughts," he mumbled, and she blinked. She hadn't thought of _that. _No wonder he'd seemed so uncomfortable... and no wonder her father hadn't liked him... He gave her a resigned look. "Go ahead and laugh. You'll hurt yourself if you don't."

"I'm sorry," she managed to say through fits of giggles. "Poor Numair. You really had a bad time there, didn't you?"

"You have _no _idea," he said with feeling.

Abruptly something else occurred to her and she asked before she had time to think, "What really happened at Temptation Lake?"

He blushed again. "_Nothing_, I promise. I really didn't drink the water. Mostly because I already knew what I'd see if I did," he admitted.

She remembered the vision her father had created when he'd told them about the lake, and suppressed more laughter. "Da really didn't like you much, did he?"

"That's putting it mildly," he agreed ruefully, smiling a little. "I think he hated me."

"Why?"

"I believe fathers are required to hate men who look twice at their daughters. I don't _think _it was personal... although I did have to endure several lectures."

Daine bit her lip, smiling. "He warned you not to hurt me?"

"No, actually that was your mother. Her threats were... very creative." He grinned at her. "I can see where you get it from. You're a lot like her, you know."

"Well, Ma seems to approve of you now, so you're probably safe," she assured him.

His brown eyes were soft as he looked at her. "Really, love, you do make my life horribly complicated," he murmured, reaching out to brush her hair back from her face.

"Think how bored you'd be otherwise," she suggested, and he smiled before leaning closer and kissing her, very gently. She could never get tired of this, she decided in the small part of her mind still capable of thinking straight; she didn't quite feel ready for anything else yet, but she loved the way his kisses made her feel.

After a long moment he drew back, with such obvious reluctance that she couldn't help but smile. "Come on, sweet. We are supposed to be working." Standing, he offered her a hand up.

"Jon was a bit vague," she complained softly as she dusted off her breeches. "What are we meant to be doing?"

Numair smiled wryly. "Looking around to see if we can find trouble. I think he believes that if there is trouble anywhere, we're likely to find it. I can't imagine why he'd have that impression," he added sarcastically, grinning and clicking his tongue softly to Spots as he pulled himself into the saddle once more. "It's going to take a while before we manage to piece together what's going on. Think of it as intelligence gathering. And if nothing else, it's given us a chance to talk in peace."

* * *

_As I said, that first talk was Kris' fault; she asked on my forum just why everyone seems to see Numair as the promiscuous type, and that led to a long talk over messaging about the few canon hints about his love life and the type of man he seems to be, and _that _led to the above conversation. A bit awkward for them both, really, but sex is something they'd have to address. I can totally see Numair as a closet romantic, though, can't you? Bless his little heart. And Daine knows that Varice was sort-of long term, so - much as I dislike her - she has to be mentioned as well. That's going to be the last you hear of her, as far as I'm aware._

_Then we move on to slightly more fun conversations, and a bit of Numair-teasing, some humour and a few scraps of fluff to tide you all over._

_Next chapter we start to face some slightly more... physical... issues. Not necessarily the ones you'd automatically assume, either. I assure you, though, I'm staying well within the current rating. This story will remain smut-free (but there's going to be an extra chapter uploaded separately, when we reach that point). There will also be quite a silly argument about something completely different, and a few more scraps of fluff. Patience, my loves... they're getting there.  
_

**_Loten._**


	4. Chapter 4

**_Notes: _**_This carries on directly from where Chapter 3 left off, so they're still on the road on the first trip since everything happened. I didn't plan to update today, but I was organising my fics and trying to get some sort of action plan organised and I realised I have _six _stories on the go at the moment... I need to get this finished! I'm not going to rush it, I won't upload until I'm happy, but I need to get a bit of a move on if I can. So, we've dealt with a lot of the emotional things; now we have a few physical issues to deal with, and a silly argument. Bonus points to anyone who spots the X-Files quote!_

_

* * *

_

The evening's camp was horribly awkward. That effortless, practised ease that Broad Foot had commented on was gone; neither of them were entirely sure how to act now. This was the first time they had been truly alone together for any real length of time since learning one another's feelings, and for all his supposed experience, Numair was no more certain of what to do than Daine. In some ways it was similar to when they had first started working together; in other ways far different. And despite their discussion that morning, there was an acute physical awareness between them that was making him nervous.

They had cared for the horses and eaten in more or less total silence; neither of them had moved to unpack their bedrolls yet. Now it was growing later, both of them were tired, and yet neither wanted to make the first move. Eventually he laughed softly at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. "This is stupid."

She looked up quickly, then nodded, looking embarrassed. "It is. It's... awkward."

He nodded rueful agreement. "It shouldn't be." Hesitating, he finally stood and moved to the pile of bedding near the fire, not entirely certain of what he was going to do but knowing that he had to do _something_. Apparently reaching the same conclusion, she joined him and they began sorting out the blankets. He wasn't sure who started laughing first, himself or her, but it set the other one off and the tension had eased noticeably by the time they both caught their breath.

At length he decided to break the silence, giving her a quick smile. "I promise to behave myself. For tonight, at least," he added, deliberately teasing; it made her blush, but she smiled a little before she ducked her head, knowing that he wasn't being serious.

"It's not that. I just... What will folks think?"

"I don't care what _they _think," he said practically. "I care what _you _think." He grinned ruefully. "I think we've got enough to sort out between the two of us without factoring everyone else into it, don't you? Besides, nobody needs to know yet, except us."

Daine nodded slowly, conceding the point, but she still hesitated. Leaving her to make up her own mind, he made up his own bed near the fire and settled down, outwardly calm as he looked up at her; inwardly his heart was racing and his mind a mess of so many different emotions he wasn't sure what he was thinking at this point. She stared down at him, but her eyes weren't focused on his face; he had a feeling she might well be asking the horses for advice, a theory supported by a snort from Cloud that sounded suspiciously like a snigger.

In the end she settled down nearby, not quite within easy touching distance yet close enough for him to hear her breathing; a compromise of sorts, he supposed. He should have left it alone, but something made him ask in a pitiful voice, "Don't I even get a goodnight kiss?"

She laughed softly and blew him a kiss, making no attempt to move. "Good night, Numair."

Laughing with her, he rolled over, grinning wryly at her before closing his eyes. "Good night."

* * *

He woke some hours later, and for a confused moment wasn't sure why. The horses were silent; the fire had died to glowing embers. After a moment he was more awake, aware of warmth against him; at some point in the night he had rolled over to face the fire and Daine was now curled against his back, one arm around his waist. He could tell from the sound of her breathing – and, indeed, the feel of her breath stirring his shirt – that she was still deeply asleep.

It should have felt awkward; he wasn't sure why it didn't. He'd never really been much for physical contact except in times of stress; certainly he preferred to sleep alone without anything – or any_one_ – touching him, or always had until now. Possibly it should have been sexual, too; that was there, somewhere, but it wasn't really important. Instead it felt... almost unremarkable, as though it was perfectly normal. He relaxed, closing his eyes once more and drifting quite happily back towards sleep.

When she woke, he was still awake, although only just. He heard her draw in a sharp breath, then felt her begin pulling away, and heard himself make a sleepy sound of protest; she froze. "Numair?" she whispered.

"You don't have to move," he mumbled drowsily.

There was a long pause; he almost fell asleep again before she replied uncertainly, "Are you sure?"

"I promised to behave, remember?" he answered sleepily. "Anyway, you're warm."

He heard laughter in her voice. "It's not even close to autumn yet; you can't possibly be cold." He didn't answer, and after another long pause she hesitantly settled against his back once more.

Her arm was still draped over him; he tentatively linked his fingers with hers, and when she didn't pull away he relaxed against her, stifling a yawn. "Good night." She echoed him softly, and he was asleep within moments.

* * *

Over the next few days, they settled into a routine, of sorts; during the day they journeyed as though it was just another day's work, settling back into the old familiar patterns as they searched for signs of 'trouble' – keeping alert for unusual levels of immortal activity, mostly, with Daine asking the local wildlife and Numair watching for magical signs. There wasn't much to find at the moment; whatever the gods had done seemed to have frightened everything into hiding, at least temporarily, although that certainly wouldn't last.

The evenings were the time he liked best, when they'd set up camp and looked after the horses and eaten and cleaned up and done all the countless little chores; once all that was done, they just sat and talked quietly. Not about anything important, not really; just... talking. It was something he had sorely missed over the last few months – even if he hadn't been trying to keep his distance, they'd simply been too busy and too tired to just enjoy one another's company. And it was better now, because they could touch as they talked; she would lean against his shoulder, or he'd catch himself playing with her hair, and it didn't need to mean anything. He didn't have to fret about whether or not it was 'appropriate' any more, and she didn't need to feel awkward and wonder what other people might think.

At night they had attempted to stick to the original plan of sleeping close to one another, but still maintaining that last little distance; after the third night in a row waking up to find her curled against his back or his side, Numair had smiled and told her that it clearly wasn't working. After making sure that he really didn't mind – as if he would object – she had given in on that score, and since then they had been sharing the same blankets. It had taken him a few nights to adjust; travelling with Daine meant that occasionally he did get curious animals invading his bedroll, but he wasn't used to it happening quite so frequently. He also hadn't realised how much Kitten fidgeted in her sleep; her claws were sharp if you weren't expecting it.

Catching him tending a small scratch on his arm one morning, Daine looked awkward. "Sorry."

He blinked at her, not quite awake yet. "Why? I'm reasonably certain it wasn't you. I'm sure I would have noticed," he replied dryly, suppressing a smile. He had no intention of telling her, but Kitten wasn't the only restless sleeper; over the past couple of nights he had observed that Daine tended to twitch in her sleep sometimes, almost exactly like a dreaming puppy. That had been funny enough all by itself, but Numair had been further amused by his own reaction; frankly, he thought it was adorable.

"Well, no, but... seems a bit unfair to expect you to share with half the woods at night," she said nervously. It hadn't occurred to him to think of this as a potential issue, but apparently it had been bothering her, if the worried expression in her eyes was anything to go by. Raking his hair back with his fingers and tying it into its usual tail, he smiled at her.

"Don't be ridiculous, magelet. If I objected, I'd still be on the other side of the fire. I likeknowing that your friends don't mind my being so close to you." Reaching out, he cupped her cheek gently, running his thumb along her lower lip as he met her eyes. "Daine, I've accepted what your magic means for years. I'm aware that you come with an insane baby dragon and a vicious pony attached. I'd never ask you to try and discourage the People from visiting you; it's part of who you are." When she relaxed, he grinned mischievously at her as he turned away. "Although I would hope they won't _always _be around. Privacy would be nice sometimes."

"Don't you ever get tired of embarrassing me?" she complained, trying not to smile even as she flushed red. She caught a flicker of thought from the horses; Cloud was actually pleased to be described as vicious, and Spots found the whole exchange hilarious.

"No," Numair replied cheerfully. "You even look lovely when you're blushing." She scowled at him, and his grin broadened. "And when you're glaring at me, I'm afraid."

"You're impossible," she groused.

"But you love me anyway, right?" he asked innocently, and felt something jump inside his chest when she smiled at him.

"I must be mad, but yes."

"I prefer to think that you have excellent taste," he replied loftily, collecting their half-empty water flasks and turning towards the stream to try and hide the fact that he was grinning like an idiot again. "In fact, you can prove it – it's your turn to make breakfast."

* * *

Daine had to admit that she felt better now that they had started to talk about things. It was good to know that Numair didn't seem to be expecting anything – although she hadn't really imagined that he would try and talk her into bedding him, the way a few of her erstwhile suitors had done (and she really didn't want to imagine his reaction had he known just how much pressure one or two of them had put on her). The slow pace they were setting gave them both time to grow used to things; it was nice to know that Numair was almost as uncertain as she was.

And there was a lot to get used to, really, especially now that they slept so close – sharing a bed with her animal friends wasn't the same as waking up curled around another person, and it definitely hadn't prepared her for the first time she woke up to find him spooned against her with his face buried in her neck. She could feel every inch of his body, and didn't quite dare to even breathe until she registered that he was actually still asleep and clearly had no idea of the state he was in. When she finally risked waking him, unsure of how he was going to react, he only chuckled drowsily, mumbled a vague apology and shifted his hips back and away from her before going back to sleep; apparently it wasn't going to be a problem. He had told her years ago that it was an involuntary male reaction – she still smiled at the memory of how embarrassed they had both been during that particular conversation; she blushed almost as much the next morning, when he admitted that this time it hadn't been _entirely _involuntary.

It wasn't the first time she had been uncomfortably aware of male arousal – although under very different circumstances – but she had to admit that it was different now. She trusted Numair, and she had never trusted any of those boys at all, but it was more than that – somehow, knowing that Numair wanted her made her feel good, rather than uncomfortable or nervous. He wasn't a teenager lusting after anything vaguely female, and whatever he might say she was pretty sure he could have any woman he wanted; so the fact that he had chosen her was reason enough to feel good about herself, even if she wasn't entirely sure why he had. And a small part of her found it curiously exciting to know that he did want her; he was being so careful not to put any pressure on her that she could start to think about what might come next without fear.

* * *

On that first trip, they found nothing much to report – the towns and villages they passed were recovering well enough from the war; only the larger cities such as Port Caynn, Port Legann and Corus itself had been seriously damaged, at least in this part of the country. Along the coast and the Scanran border the problems were no doubt worse; they would probably be travelling that way soon enough. There wasn't much immortal activity to report either; a few sightings, but nothing excessive.

"It feels like... like a rabbit warren when an eagle flies over," Daine explained to Jonathan when they reported to him on their return to the palace. "The war ending like that has scared everything into hiding. Once they realise it's all clear, things will start returning to normal, I think."

"Whatever 'normal' means," Numair murmured absently; he was in one of his introspective moods and seemed to be thinking about something else entirely.

"Well, at least we've got some breathing space," Jon said, seeming relieved. "We need it. The Own, the army and the Riders are scattered all over the country helping to rebuild; if there was any kind of organised threat still remaining, we could be in trouble. For now, then, if you both could continue scouting for trouble? George is sifting through rumours; when we know the worst areas, I'll send you off to investigate."

"We don't have to go out again straight away, do we?" Daine asked plaintively, giving Jon a pleading look. She preferred the peace and quiet of being out on the road with just Numair, Kitten and the horses, and their work was important, but it would still be nice to have a chance to rest for a day or two first. Neither of them were fully recovered from the months of constantly travelling and fighting.

The king smiled a little sadly. "I know you're both tired. I'm trying, but we're stretched thin at the moment, and the two of you are the best team I have as far as immortals are concerned."

"Oh, isn't it nice to be suddenly so highly regarded," Numair muttered in a rueful tone, abandoning his contemplative staring into space and smiling at Daine. "I think this means we'd be better off if we were less amazing and talented, magelet." She grinned back at him as Jon snorted.

"Speaking of high regard," the king said thoughtfully, "have you given it any more thought, Numair?"

The mage looked blank for a moment before giving his monarch an exasperated glare. "Not this again, Jon. I told you, I'm not interested in any kind of reward."

"And what about you, Daine?"

"Numair's right," she said with a shrug, "we don't need anything, or want anything." Numair had told her about his conversation with Jon when they had returned from Legann; his description of Jon's expression had sent her into helpless giggles, and the memory made her smile.

"You're both impossible."

"No," Numair corrected softly, "we just don't want that kind of attention. How would you justify giving us some kind of reward, Jon? Most people have no idea what really happened; we'd like to keep it that way."

Daine nodded emphatically. "There's enough strange rumours about us already, and I don't really want folk knowing about – about my parents, or anything else." Numair was the only one who knew the full story, and that was how it was going to stay.

"It doesn't have to be public," the king argued. "Come on, Numair. There must be _something._"

"I told you, I have everything I want already," he replied with a lopsided smile that made Daine feel warm as she realised that he was genuinely serious. After a moment the mage added, "Why are you offering _me _a reward, anyway? I didn't do anything."

"What?" Daine asked sharply, turning to stare at him.

"Well, I didn't. You're the one who ended the war, not me." He smiled ruefully. "About all I did was get in the way and infuriate your parents."

"Don't be stupid," she told him bluntly.

"I'm not. You're the one the gods chose, magelet. I wasn't even supposed to be there, and I was no help at all. You're the one who killed Uusoae's pawn; I had nothing to do with it."

Daine stared at him, stunned to realise that he actually meant it. "For such an intelligent man, you're fair blind sometimes," she said finally.

He snorted. "We both know _that._"

"I'm not talking about that," she snapped, annoyed. "I'd never have made it if you hadn't been there."

"Nonsense."

"It's not nonsense. What about the Dragonlands?"

"Diamondflame wouldn't have let anything happen to Skysong's guardian, and Rainbow was on your side. And I didn't really do anything much anyway."

"Then what about the spidrens?"

Numair grimaced, his eyes darkening. "That was hardly my finest hour, Daine. It's a miracle I didn't kill myself trying to get to you, and I wasn't needed there either. You'd have found a way to get free on your own, and even if you didn't, do you really imagine that we weren't being watched? If I hadn't shown up, I imagine that at least half a dozen of the People's gods would have stepped in to help you – like the skink did at the Chaos vent that you told me about." He shrugged and smiled at her. "You'd have been just fine if I hadn't been there, magelet. You always are."

How had he managed to so completely miss the point? When he said things like this, she wasn't sure if she wanted to kiss him or hit him. "You blind, stubborn idiot of a man!" she started, when a quiet voice interrupted her, sounding amused.

"Entertaining though this fight promises to be, I feel I should point out that I'm still in the room," Jon remarked, trying unsuccessfully not to grin.

"Sorry," she muttered, feeling her face growing hot; she heard Numair mumble an apology of his own.

"It seems you may have a few things to discuss," Jon observed. "We'll continue this conversation another time. I'll try and give you some time to rest before you go out again, but I can't promise anything. Now scat – and play nicely, children," he added ironically, failing to hide his amusement.

* * *

Once outside, Daine rounded on him. "What was all that about?"

Numair gave her a bewildered look. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

"Making out that it was all down to me, like that!"

"Well, it was," he protested, frowning.

"No, it wasn't! You know damned well you saved my life, more than once! And I was telling the truth – I couldn't've done it if you hadn't been there."

"Yes, you could." He shook his head and smiled at her, cocking his head to one side. "I was telling the truth, too, sweet. You've always managed to look after yourself perfectly well without my help, and you're the gods' chosen champion as well. I wasn't supposed to be there with you, I didn't do anything you couldn't have done yourself, I caused more problems than I solved, and the end of the war and Ozorne's death had nothing to do with me."

"That's not why I needed you there," Daine said quietly.

He looked utterly stunned for a moment, before his eyes grew soft and warm and he smiled, reaching out to touch her cheek gently. "Well, that's good to know."

"You should've known it already," she grumbled, shaking her head ruefully. "Idiot."

Numair grinned at her. "Sorry." After a moment he said reflectively, "This is probably the stupidest argument we've ever had, isn't it?"

"Probably," she agreed, looking at him, and after a moment they both started laughing.

* * *

_Sharing a bed with the Wildmage must take some getting used to, I would think. Also, don't you love the idea of Daine twitching in her sleep like a dog dreaming about rabbits? Numair thinks it's cute now, but I shouldn't think it'll be too long before he starts teasing. And I had a lot of fun writing their little dispute - it's one of those odd arguments where they're actually both right, and both wrong. Technically, Daine's the heroine and could have done it without Numair being there; at the same time, he's needed. You never know, one day he might stop finding it so surprising.  
_

_Next time: we know about Daine's family and what they think of these two, but... what about Numair's? I don't know when I'll be updating it, though - I have a job interview tomorrow, and I'll be staying with my best friend overnight, and I'm busy over the next few days after that. I shouldn't keep you waiting too long, I hope. Wish me luck!  
_

_**Loten.**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Notes: **__This chapter is more or less completely my own invention, so don't bother trying to find anything in canon. That said, I'm almost certain it doesn't contradict canon in any way. Thanks to those who commented about Numair's background on my forum; some of your ideas were very helpful. And nobody found the X-Files quote in the last chapter; I'm disappointed in all of you!  
_

* * *

"You're in an odd mood this morning," Daine commented the next day after she had let herself into his new rooms – still in a state of total chaos, but he was making progress.

"Mm," Numair agreed vaguely, trying not to yawn as he sat back in his chair and looked up at her. "Late night. Sorry."

"Daydreaming again?" she asked wickedly, and he grinned, enjoying the new level of teasing they had progressed to.

"Always," he replied, honestly. "But for once you weren't the only thing on my mind." He sighed. "I was trying to write to my mother, actually. I've been trying for days. It's not going well; I don't really know what to say."

"You're trying to tell your family about... us?"

As always, hearing her say _us _made him feel warm inside. Disregarding it, Numair nodded. "Yes, and about the war as well. I've no idea what they've heard and I can't decide how much to tell them."

"You're not going to tell them everything?"

He shook his head emphatically and smiled crookedly at her. "Not everyone has parents like yours, sweet. My family don't find it easy to accept the stranger aspects of my life, and we don't speak much these days. I usually only write to them a couple of times a year, now."

"Why?"

"It's a long story... How much do you know about my family?"

"Almost nothing. Your parents are cloth merchants – I think that's all you've ever really said. I don't even know what family you have."

Numair blinked, startled to realise just how little he'd told her. He seldom talked about his family to anyone, but in four and a half years he had thought he would have mentioned more than that. "This is going to be a longer story than I thought, then," he remarked, wondering where to start. "You might want to get comfortable." He grinned suddenly as a thought occurred to him, and as she moved past him towards another chair he caught her wrist, tugging her down to sit in his lap before she could object. "Much better."

"Numair," she protested, laughing, "I smell of the stables!"

"No, you don't," he corrected absently, wrapping his arms around her. "You smell like you." He'd associated the scent of hay and horses with her ever since they had first met.

Abandoning the struggle to get free, she settled more comfortably. "You're changing the subject."

"You distract me. That's not my fault." He rested his chin on her shoulder and reluctantly pulled his mind back to the original topic of conversation, trying not to dwell on the warmth of her body in his arms.

"Well," he began finally, absently winding his fingers through her curly hair, "my entire family are cloth merchants. My grandmother is head of the family, since my grandfather died when I was fourteen or fifteen. My father is one of several brothers and sisters, and I have a lot of cousins – the Drapers are a large family, but I'm an only child. My mother lost several children before I was born, and she never conceived again after me. That didn't really help much.

"I've never been very close to any of my family, really. I know Lindhall thought for quite a while that I'd been abused, or something, but it wasn't ever like that. There aren't any dramatic secrets; I just... didn't quite fit in. Being an only child in a big extended family was awkward enough; I was always wandering off by myself. I used to climb up into the hills behind the town and watch animals – I'm sure you can understand that! My cousins were all a bit older or a bit younger than me, there was nobody exactly my age, so I usually played on my own. The real reason I never felt like I belonged, though, is that I'm the only member of my family with the Gift."

"Is that possible?" Daine asked, toying absently with the laces of his shirt in a way that was proving extremely distracting. "I thought it was inherited."

He shrugged. "It is, normally, but nobody's really certain how it works. Alanna's children are a good example – Thom has the Gift, but the twins don't, and they got George's Sight instead. Nobody knows why. And Jon's children are all very different from one another in terms of magical ability. I imagine I had Gifted ancestors and I'm a throwback to them." He saw the look on her face and smiled crookedly. "I know what you're thinking, but no, I'm not illegitimate. I look too much like both my parents." His long nose was something of a Draper heirloom, courtesy of his father; his eyes were the same shape as his mother's, and he had her cheekbones.

"Sorry."

"Don't be. I thought about it myself for a while. Somewhere in one of those boxes I've got a miniature painting of my parents; you'll see what I mean when I say I look like them both, if I ever find it. Anyway, I'm the only living Draper with the Gift. I think I always knew there was something strange – do you remember me telling you about my fire dreams, the first time we were out on the road?"

"Yes. I asked why you kept staring at the fire and you told me you liked watching the flames because you often dreamed about coloured fire."

"Exactly. I always knew those dreams weren't quite normal, I think; certainly I don't ever remember telling anyone about them. And there were always strange things happening; sometimes I'd get a feeling about something, or I'd know that something was going to happen. I remember when I was about four or five I suddenly took a dislike to one of the summer workers we'd hired to help with the wool deliveries; I couldn't tell anyone why, but I really hated him. A week or so later my uncle caught him stealing. Little things like that.

"I was six – no, seven – when other things started happening, usually when I was angry or upset about something. The first thing I remember clearly was when one of my older cousins decided I was in his way; I can't remember what I was playing with, but he deliberately kicked it over, and as he walked away he tripped over nothing at all. I remember another time when I was climbing a tree – I think I'd been dared to climb it, it's the kind of thing I would have done," he admitted wryly. "I felt my hands slip, and I panicked, and I grabbed wildly at the next branch up. It was too high, but it seemed to bend until I could reach it.

"Nobody really seemed to notice anything at the time. Looking back, I don't know if my parents realised that there was something different or not. If they did, they decided to ignore it and hope I'd grow out of it. The problems started when I was nine. I was ill and running a high fever; I was delirious. The house started shaking, hard enough to break tiles off the roof. I think everyone dismissed it as a coincidence at the time, but after that the little things got worse. When I was angry, things tended to break, or fall off shelves, and if there was a flame anywhere – a candle, a lamp or a full-blown fire – it would flare up. Later, things started catching fire spontaneously."

Numair sighed, remembering how scared he had been. He hadn't known what was happening, or why, only that it was somehow his fault. "That's actually quite normal. You've seen young mages just coming into their magic. I was younger than most when it started, but it wasn't anything too unusual. But I didn't know that at the time, and I had no Gifted relatives, nor did we know anyone with the Gift. Nobody had any idea of what to do. My parents wrote to the university at Carthak because they didn't know what to do with me; obviously I wasn't doing it deliberately, because I was usually the one who got hurt, but I didn't know how to stop it – I didn't even know what it was, not really. I don't remember anyone ever telling me that what I was doing was magic.

"It wasn't my parents' fault. I know Lindhall was furious, after he'd met me and spoken to me and to them, but I never blamed them. They didn't handle it well, but they didn't know what else to do. We'd never been close, and... I wasn't really what they had expected in a son. I wasn't remotely interested in learning about the business, I spent a lot of time off on my own either reading or running wild, and I had magic. I think everyone was relieved when I left. I remember thinking that I should have been upset, but I wasn't.

"I wrote home from Carthak occasionally. Mostly when Lindhall reminded me to, I admit. My parents were pleased that I was doing well and that I seemed to be enjoying it, but they weren't really interested. You know what it's like trying to describe your magic to someone who doesn't have it. It's... difficult. By the time I went home for the summer, I had changed a lot; I'd started to pick up an education, as daft as that sounds. I had work of my own to do that nobody else in my family understood, not that many of them tried. I wanted to show them all what I could do, but they mostly remembered my magic setting things on fire and didn't really want to watch."

He paused, thinking back, then sighed again and admitted, "I was growing arrogant, too. I wanted to show off, and I got angry when I didn't get the impressed reaction I wanted. I grew resentful and started thinking that I was better than the rest of my family. Luckily, I grew out of that in the next few years, but it left things even more strained than they had been. Some of the things I was studying by then were utterly beyond my family's understanding, and gradually I stopped trying to explain what I was doing. The letters grew shorter, until I was really just letting them know I was all right and politely asking if there was any news from home.

"I don't really know what happened after I fled Carthak. The university would have told them that I'd been charged with treason and escaped arrest. I tried to go back to Tyra – I remember telling you that there were people waiting for me when I got there. I didn't actually see any of my family, but I think they knew I'd been there..." There had been some collateral damage from his attempt to evade the guards; several buildings had caught fire, amongst other things. "I don't know if Lindhall would have told them what really happened; I never asked him. But my family must have assumed I was dead; or at least tried to pretend that I was. I didn't contact them again for years; then suddenly they got a letter out of the blue explaining that I was still alive, but I'd changed my name and had no intention of going home, and I was still a wanted criminal in Carthak. Surprisingly, they didn't take it too well," he said dryly.

"Since then... it's difficult. I write to them, a few times a year, and I try and tell them some of the things I've been doing, but... I can't really explain it. When my mother answers – she writes on behalf of everyone else – she never really seems that interested. She tells me news of the family, but she doesn't often refer to anything I said in my letters and she doesn't often ask about what I do. It's almost like writing to a stranger. It's out of duty rather than anything else. I don't really want to go back and visit – not that I've been asked to – because I don't belong there. I never did. I haven't seen any of them since I was seventeen.

"And now, it's hard, because this – us – is the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I want to tell my family all about you and how important you are to me, and I want them to be happy for me... but I don't really think they will be." He tried to imagine his parents' reaction to the news that he was with an illegitimate former student fourteen years his junior who caused trouble everywhere she went, who was the object of even more strange rumours than he himself was, who had no intention of marrying him – at least not yet – and who wasn't even completely human, and failed. 'Unhappy' would be a powerful understatement. Either they would respond with the usual indifference, which would hurt him, or they'd be outraged and horrified, which would make him angry.

"It sounds very... lonely," she said slowly, looking up at him.

"I suppose it does, but it was the only life I knew. I was always naturally solitary and I preferred my own company." Shrugging, he smiled slightly. "As I mentioned before, it didn't give me much of a chance to develop social skills... it probably contributed a lot to what happened later, with Ozorne. It would be easier in some ways if I had been abused, or something; if I felt angry, if I could hate them. But I don't really feel much one way or the other any more; it's been too long. I gave up on the idea of belonging with them a very long time ago. It doesn't hurt, but..." He hesitated, trying to find words.

As so often seemed to happen, she finished the sentence for him. "But you wish it could be different, and you want to be able to share your life with them."

_Of course she understands. _"Yes. Exactly."

They exchanged a long look of perfect understanding; the two of them were better able than anyone else to appreciate the isolation that magic could bring. After a moment Daine carefully changed the subject, a little. "What are they like, your family?"

Numair thought about it. "It's difficult to explain it, really, because of the culture; Tyra's nothing like Tortall, or Carthak, or Galla. My family are conservatives, by the local standards – don't look so horrified," he added in some amusement, "it doesn't mean the same thing there as it does here. I'd have been drowned at birth if it did! But they are traditionalists, which is why I don't think they're going to approve of us. They aren't going to like learning that you're a former student of mine – although the age difference shouldn't be a problem – and they're really going to hate the fact that we're not married."

She looked uncomfortable, and he shook his head, lightly kissing her forehead. "I told you, that's not an issue, sweet. It doesn't bother me, and I'm in no rush. But Tyran society is fairly traditional in that regard."

"So what're you saying in your letter?"

He gestured vaguely to the sheet of paper on the table; his handwriting was far from his usual neat script, given that this was the fourth or fifth attempt, and the page was covered in crossings-out. "I'd let you read it, but it's in Tyran. I haven't really managed to say anything yet. I've no idea where to start. The official story of the war doesn't really explain very much."

Daine nodded. "I know. I don't see how Jon's going to get away with it."

He smiled at her. "The truth isn't exactly believable either; he's in a fairly awkward position. But truthfully, most people simply don't care how it happened, only that it did; they have lives to rebuild. There will be more odd rumours for a while, and then people will forget, and move on."

She rested her head against his chest and returned to playing with his shirt laces, thinking. They sat quietly for a while before she said softly, "Jon told me he's planning a ball next week, a celebration."

"I don't want to go, either," Numair replied equally softly, resting his cheek against her hair. Neither of them had much to celebrate, all things considered; they had lost friends in the war, and to him the only thing worth celebrating – the young woman currently in his arms – was something he didn't want to tell anyone else about yet.

She sighed and shifted restlessly. "It seems wrong, somehow, after everything that happened. It was a war. What's to celebrate? A lot of good folk died."

"I know, sweet." He tightened his embrace, thinking. "It's not to celebrate the war, as such. It's to celebrate the fact that we survived. It shows everyone that Tortall is still here, that there's nothing to worry about now, that life is returning to normal."

"I still don't want to go."

"Then we don't have to."

"Really?"

He grinned at her. "Being a hero has to be good for something, don't you think? I don't want to go either. Especially if I have to stand and watch other people dancing with you," he added.

"Now who's jealous?" she asked, laughing as she twisted to look up at him.

"I'm not jealous, I'm possessive and occasionally overprotective. There's a difference."

"So the way you were treating Kaddar in Carthak had nothing whatsoever to do with jealousy?" she challenged him playfully, and he felt his face flush.

"I ought to point out that most of that conversation was because I needed a plausible reason to talk to him, to pass on a message from Lindhall, and also because I was trying to look out for you."

"Oh, really."

"I suppose it isn't out of the realms of possibility that subconsciously there may have been a very small amount of jealousy," he conceded grudgingly, trying not to smile. Making a satisfied sound of victory, Daine snuggled closer, nuzzling at the neck of his shirt, and he shivered. "I keep telling you, magelet, that's incredibly distracting."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"I didn't say that."

She giggled softly. "I s'pose that explains why you were acting so strangely at the bridge. I didn't understand why you pulled away like that."

Numair snorted wryly, remembering. "I pulled away because I couldn't think straight with you so close. You have no idea of the effect you have on me, sweet."

Drawing back to look at him, she raised an eyebrow. "I think I do, now. Especially sitting here," she added reflectively, and he flushed again.

"Sorry."

"If it bothered me, I'd move." She paused, then grinned mischievously at him and quite deliberately started fidgeting.

"Oh, gods." He tried not to laugh, or to squirm. "Please don't do that." She gave him a look of bland innocence, a little spoiled by the blush rising in her cheeks and by the frankly wicked gleam in her eyes, but she did stop moving. He made a valiant attempt to glare at her, with no success whatsoever. "Don't tease. I'm only human, Daine."

"I thought your self control was better than that."

"As far as _magic _is concerned, yes," he muttered, his lips twitching as he tried not to smile. He'd known for a long time that he was utterly out of his depth here, and he couldn't honestly say that he minded.

The conversation might have got totally out of hand then, had they not been interrupted by a knock at the door and Alanna calling, "Numair, is Daine in there?"

He was so, so tempted to say no, or not to answer at all, but after a momentary struggle he sighed and gave Daine a wry smile as he nudged her until she slid out of his lap with equal reluctance. Shifting position, he waved a hand to open the door. "She is," he called back.

"Hello, you two. Daine, I was looking for you – Darkmoon's limping, and even Stefan can't tell if he's feigning it or not. Could you come and take a look?"

"I didn't realise he could fool Stefan now," Daine commented, smiling. "He's getting better. I'll be down there in a moment."

"Thank you." Mercifully, the Lioness seemed distracted and irritable, which meant that she didn't seem to have picked up on the atmosphere in the room as she left. That was just as well, Numair considered; of all their friends, Alanna's reaction was the one he was most worried about. She had a volatile temper at the best of times.

"That could have been interesting," Daine murmured, echoing his thoughts.

"That's not the word I would choose," he replied dryly, smiling as he stood up and stretched, reflecting that it was probably just as well that Alanna had interrupted them. "Back to work, it seems."

"Joy."

He paused a moment as he walked her to the door, grinning suddenly and turning to face her. Lowering his head, he kissed her as thoroughly as he knew how, and only drew away when the need to breathe overcame the other needs burning through his blood. "You may go," he informed a somewhat dishevelled-looking Daine solemnly, trying not to smile.

She shook her head a little breathlessly at him. "Men! C'mon, Kit." Smiling, she closed the door behind her.

Feeling in a much happier mood, Numair returned to his study and a fresh piece of paper.

_Dear Mother_

_This is an important letter; my life has changed a lot recently, and I'd like to tell you all about it..._

* * *

_Well now, things are starting to get more interesting, aren't they? I'm interested to hear your thoughts on Numair's family and background, since it's all completely my own invention. And before anyone asks, no, I have no plans to write a story where they visit Tyra and meet his family. But I couldn't really leave them out of it, so... here you go. And some more fluff as well, to balance the serious conversation.  
_

_Next chapter, we're going to be doing something a bit different. You'll understand when I update again, which will hopefully be in a couple of days.  
_

_**Loten.**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Notes: **I said we'd be doing something different here, and so we are. This isn't the full chapter, only a teaser, which is why it's so short. The full version of this chapter will be published as a separate story in a couple of days, under a much higher rating - which should tell you all where we've got to in our story. The reason I'm doing a teaser is that I know some of my readers don't read smut, and I know some of you are young enough that you probably shouldn't, but I don't want to break up the story by missing this chapter out completely.

* * *

_

Their next trip out went much the same as the first had done, save that the weather had taken a turn for the worse. Autumn was definitely on the way, and all the magic that had been thrown around during the war hadn't helped matters; it rained the entire time, and it was noticeably colder. Numair hated the cold anyway, and being wet at the same time just made matters worse – although he wasn't as cold at night, now that they were sleeping curled up together with a dragon and assorted wildlife. It was still almost suspiciously quiet in terms of immortal activity, but given the stresses of the past few months, neither mage was complaining.

Numair was wryly amused to find on their return to the palace that he seemed to suddenly no longer be able to sleep alone; he simply couldn't get comfortable, and it felt strange to hear only silence instead of the quiet breathing of his companions – whatever species they might be. He missed Daine's warmth at his back or side, and sometime around midnight he gave up on sleep entirely and got up to read until morning. Given how many years he'd spent sleeping alone, it was either funny or somewhat pathetic to confront just how dependent he suddenly appeared to be, but he wasn't going to try and fight it.

A couple of nights later he woke from a restless sleep to the knowledge that he wasn't alone and sat up sharply, black fire flaring to illuminate the room with its strange light; he found Daine looking at him warily from the doorway. "Are you awake yet?" she asked, attempting to sound nonchalant. "Or do you need a minute to remember who I am?"

"Sorry." He let the magic die away as his heart rate slowed, and lit the fire once more to provide a more conventional light. "I thought you knew better than to startle me when I'm asleep by now," he scolded lightly; he didn't react well to sudden shocks before he was awake.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"What's wrong?" he asked more softly, as it occurred to him to wonder why she was here. Blinking, he focused on her expression, frowning slightly. "Are you all right?"

She hesitated for a long moment before her shoulders slumped. "Nightmare," she said briefly, looking unhappy.

"Ah." He moved to sit on the edge of the bed and patted the blankets beside him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's not much to talk about. I don't remember it. But now I can't sleep, and I was keeping Kit awake, so I left her to it. I'm sorry I woke you."

"That's all right."

She padded over and sat next to him, leaning against his shoulder. "Why's your skin always so warm?" she asked absently.

"I don't know." He slid an arm around her and rested his cheek against her hair.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, and Numair became aware of a subtle change in the air, a faint awareness that caused his pulse to speed up a little. Being alone on the road, with various animals and immortals around, was _not _the same as being truly alone together. Closing his eyes, he focused on his breathing, trying not to let it affect him too much. It wasn't just affecting him, either, unless there was another reason why Daine was starting to fidget. He removed his arm, expecting her to pull away; instead she twisted to look up at him, meeting his eyes and holding them.

"Numair?" she asked softly.

"I know," he replied equally softly, his voice a little hoarse.

He hadn't felt quite this unsure of himself in a long time. She shifted to kneel on the bed next to him, not looking away, and leaned in to kiss him gently; closing his eyes, he responded, her lips so soft against his, before slowly drawing away.

"This isn't why you came to me tonight," he said quietly, ignoring the small voice in the back of his mind that was howling that it didn't matter, nothing mattered except that kiss and where it would lead, and why was he stopping when this was what he wanted? He'd been ignoring that voice for most of his life.

"No," she agreed in a matter-of-fact voice. She licked her lips, the motion drawing his eyes to her mouth before he met her gaze once more. "Does that matter?" she asked, and he tensed, uncertain.

"Daine..."

She reached out and touched his lips gently, silencing him; he held still, watching her face as she searched his eyes before seeming to come to a decision. She smiled at him. "If you ask me if I'm sure, or tell me we don't have to, or offer to stop, or say anything else sweet but daft, I'm going to have to hurt you."

Surprised, he blinked at her, feeling an answering smile tugging at his lips as some of his worries subsided. There was enough light to let him read her expression; nervous, but not afraid, and stubbornly determined in a way that was uniquely her. Once again he reminded himself that this was Daine, independent and always fiercely aware of her own mind. Reaching to catch her wrist, he kissed her fingertips where they lay against his mouth. "I wouldn't dream of it, love."

"Oh, really?"

He smiled, turning her hand to kiss her knuckles before letting go. "I'm not a complete idiot, you know."

"That's your opinion," she retorted playfully, reaching to gently touch his face before sliding her fingers into his sleep-tousled hair and leaning closer.

* * *

_Now, it could be a few days before I manage to get the separate story uploaded, because I want to make sure I'm happy with it. It's not the first lemon I've ever written, but it is the first that I'm allowing anyone else to read, so I don't want to rush it. Make sure you have me on Author Alert if you want to read it as soon as it's uploaded. I'd tell you the title so you can look out for it, but I've changed my mind about it, so it doesn't have a title yet.  
_

_I know how... patient... you all are, especially where teasers are concerned, so feel free to start the yelling and nagging now!  
_

**_Loten._**


	7. Chapter 7

_**Notes: **__Well, I'm glad 'Affirmation' was so well received. Your reviews always make me smile, even if I've had a bad day, so thank you. There seem to be quite a few March birthdays amongst my reviewers, so just for the hell of it, this is dedicated to **Our-Lady-of-Victory** and **Rdr-Wrtr **and anyone else who has a birthday this month. Onwards we go; good morning!  
_

* * *

Waking up proved difficult, simply because she very much wanted to stay asleep. The first thing she was aware of was warmth, not the small areas of warmth that she was used to but the solid presence of another human, and as she woke up a little more Daine smiled drowsily, registering that the source was Numair, curled against her back. No, not curled against her but wrapped around her, his face buried against her neck, one arm draped over her waist and the other beneath her head. His breath was warm against her skin and she snuggled more closely into the curve of his body, refusing to open her eyes yet.

He was still deeply asleep; she could tell from the slow rhythm of his breathing and the loose heaviness of his muscles. Stifling a yawn, she rested her cheek against his arm, listening until she could sense his heartbeat against her back, and smiled again as memories began to stir from the night before. Remembered pleasure made her shiver, and she became aware of a faint ache, proof that it hadn't been a dream. It didn't precisely hurt; it was a good ache. In fact, it hadn't been as painful as she had thought it would be; Numair had been so gentle, obviously worried that he would hurt her. He hadn't.

Her necklace had twisted in her sleep; carefully she untangled her hair from the chain, and as she did so her fingers brushed the charm that hung from the clasp, usually hidden at the nape of her neck. That, at least, was something they hadn't had to worry about; she'd worn a pregnancy charm since her courses had started at fourteen. Daine was a realist; she had seen enough of life to know that just because you didn't particularly want to bed a man, that didn't mean it wouldn't happen. She wasn't sure whether she wanted children or not, but she definitely didn't want them _yet._

Numair stirred briefly, somehow managing to shift even closer, and his arm tightened around her waist before he relaxed once more. He wouldn't wake for a long time yet, not unless there was some sort of emergency, and she was giving serious thought to going back to sleep herself. There was no real reason to get up yet; the war had disrupted everything to such an extent that she'd stopped working with the Riders regularly, so she had nothing urgent to do. Cloud and Kitten could both look after themselves for a while, she decided; it would have to be something pretty serious to make her move right now.

His rooms felt different to hers, she observed sleepily, still not opening her eyes. There was a subtly different atmosphere, one she had felt before and subconsciously associated with him; he hadn't been living here very long, but already his Gift was permeating the rooms, in part due to the wards he'd spent most of a day setting up – the mage liked his privacy. The air smelled different, too – although she admitted that it was impossible to tell right now, since all she could smell was him, his usual sweet-spice scent overlaid by the heavy musk of their lovemaking. She'd never spent the night here before, in fact she'd barely been in these rooms at all, but it felt surprisingly familiar.

Last night hadn't been planned. She still didn't remember what the nightmare had been about – although it wasn't difficult to guess; she only remembered being unable to go back to sleep and finally deciding to go and talk to Numair. It was far from the first time that she'd woken him after having bad dreams, but she had overlooked the fact that they hadn't been completely alone together since leaving the Divine Realms, and the sudden mutual awareness of that fact had caught them both by surprise.

Daine smiled to herself, remembering affectionately the way he had tried to let her leave with dignity intact even though it was clearly not what he wanted; probably no other man would have given her that choice. Quite simply, she hadn't seen any reason to say no, not when it was what they both wanted; and, physical sensations aside, she'd known that it was the right choice when she had seen in his eyes that he was as nervous as she was. That had been unexpected, but it had helped her feel more confident. And there had been something wonderful and almost powerful in being able to see how he reacted to her, seeing that dizzy blend of pleasure and desire in his dark eyes and knowing she was the cause; and seeing that moment when a wild lack of restraint had spilled through his eyes before he had cried out...

She was pulled from her memories by the unwelcome intrusion of the real world; she needed to relieve herself, badly. _Stupid reality. _Smiling ruefully, she attempted to move, and grinned outright at the sleepy growl of displeasure from behind her as the arm around her waist tightened. "Numair?" she whispered. "Are you awake?"

After quite a long pause, he answered in a muffled voice, "No."

"Well, tough. I need the privy; let me up."

Another sleepy and incoherent noise was his only response, but finally he did roll over, and she sat up slowly as she heard him yawn. "Time?" he asked drowsily.

"Before dawn. Go back to sleep."

"Mm," he mumbled, and Daine grinned again as she stretched before standing up carefully; maybe she was a little sore, but nothing as bad as she had expected, nothing worth mentioning. Still, maybe she should wash quickly, as well.

When she came back into the bedroom, she had assumed he would have gone back to sleep, but in fact Numair was still awake – although only just. His brown eyes were half-hooded as he smiled sleepily at her, looking almost adorably scruffy; he needed a shave and his hair was even more of a mess than hers was. "Good morning."

"A complete sentence? I'm impressed," she teased, and his smile broadened.

"Don't be nasty. It's too early."

"I told you to go back to sleep," she reminded him, shivering and hastily burrowing back under the blankets into the warm bed. He wrapped an arm around her and she gratefully snuggled closer, resting her head on his chest. _Three... two... one..._

Right on cue, he asked softly, "Are you all right?"

Trying not to laugh, she lifted her head and looked at him. "What did I say last night?"

A mischievous glint crept into his eyes. "Quite a lot of things, as I recall..." he replied teasingly, and grinned when she felt herself blushing. It didn't seem fair that he could still embarrass her like that. "Anyway, you surely can't expect that to still apply today, given my penchant for saying daft things. And stop dodging the question."

"If I wasn't all right, you'd know." Numair continued to look at her, and she smiled, giving in. "_Yes, _I'm all right. You didn't hurt me, and I definitely don't regret it."

She hesitated, looking at him, and he blinked. "Nor do I," he said hastily, frowning at her. "Did you think I would?"

Relaxing, Daine shook her head and smiled at him once more. "Not really, no. I just – it takes getting used to. I don't know how you felt last night..."

"Terrified," he said softly, and she stared at him.

"Why?"

He smiled crookedly, his eyes turning soft. "I can't remember." After a moment he sighed and gave her a wry grin. "Now _I _need to get up." Disentangling himself from their bedding, he sat up and stretched; watching him, Daine winced.

"Was that me?"

Twisting, he gave her a puzzled look. "What?"

Reaching out, she traced a scratch on his shoulder, noticing others. "I think this means I need to cut my nails... I'm sorry, Numair."

"I'm not." He chuckled softly and gave her a very masculine grin. "In fact, do it again if you like," he told her wickedly, and laughed outright at the look on her face as he stood up. No, she decided, it _definitely _wasn't fair that he could still make her blush; it didn't stop her admiring the view, though.

He had only just curled up with her once more when someone knocked heavily at the door. Daine groaned, and her lover cursed softly before starting to laugh. "Well, I suppose we should have expected that, magelet," he told her wryly. "I'm starting to think there's some kind of conspiracy."

"At least nobody came by last night," she replied softly, and he actually flushed before laughing harder.

"That would not have been funny," he agreed, before his eyes slid slightly out of focus and he frowned. "It's Raoul; that's odd..." He gave her a look of dismay. "Oh, don't say they're sending us out again. Not today."

_I hope not... _"You won't know unless you go and talk to him," she pointed out as he hammered on the door again. "Before he breaks in would be favourite."

Numair snorted. "A herd of tauros couldn't break through that door. Even your illustrious parents would find it a bit of an effort. Can't we just leave him there?"

She grinned at him. "No. Go get rid of him."

"As my lady commands." Stifling a yawn, he reluctantly got out of bed once more and dragged his robe off the back of the door; not for the first time, Daine reflected in some amusement that he was probably the only mage in the world who happily used his formal robe as a dressing gown but dug in his heels every time he was told to wear it in public. Snuggling into the warm hollow left by his body, she reshaped her ears and listened as he padded through his rooms to open the door.

"This had better be good, Goldenlake. Do you know what time it is?" she heard Numair complain sleepily.

"Sorry, Numair. Have you seen Alanna this morning?" the knight's deep voice asked.

"Alanna? No. Should I have done?"

"It's probably too late, then."

"Too late for _what?_" Numair was starting to sound irritated. "Raoul, if you don't stop babbling nonsense and tell me what's going on, I'm going to turn you into something and go back to bed."

"Someone's grumpy in the mornings! Stop moaning and listen. Alanna's had a flaming row with Jon and gone storming off somewhere; we don't think she's coming back."

"What?" Numair asked blankly. "Why?"

"Something about a girl who wants to be a page."

"What girl?"

Raoul made an exasperated noise. "Oh, just get dressed. We're meeting in Gary's study to talk things over; strictly unofficial, so don't tell Jon yet. Myles has the full story. If you could drop by the stables and get Daine and Onua, too? They might be able to think of something we've missed."

"All right," Numair agreed, stifling a yawn. "We'll be there soon."

Daine changed her ears back to normal as the door closed and Numair came back in. "Well, so much for my plans for this morning," he told her cheerfully, looking slightly more awake. "Looks like we're back at work."

"I didn't know there was a girl wanting to be a page," she commented, standing up and starting to gather her clothes together; after the past six months, she was now an expert at dressing in a hurry.

"Nor did I, sweet. Mind you, we've not been around much, and we've had other things to think about. We'll catch up soon enough."

"I'll go and get Onua; I need to check on Kit and apologise for leaving her anyway. I'll see you there?"

"Not so fast," he murmured; she turned to look at him, and her puzzled frown changed to a smile at the look on his face as he tilted her chin up and bent his head to kiss her sweetly. She kissed him back, and when they pulled apart she lingered for a moment in the circle of his arms before reluctantly drawing away.

"We have to get going."

"I know." He smiled at her and turned away to find his own clothing. "I'll be there soon."

* * *

"All right," Myles began, once they were all gathered. "Do you all remember Baron Mindelan?"

"Our Yamani ambassador?" Buri asked. "Vaguely. He doesn't come to court much."

"Well, his daughter wishes to be a page. Unfortunately, Lord Wyldon is less than enthusiastic about the idea." Buri said something rude about the training master's probable parentage. "Nevertheless, he is the training master," the elderly knight said calmly. "He was very reluctant to allow the girl to try."

Gareth the Younger took up the tale. "In the end, he agreed on two conditions; that the girl be subject to a probationary period of one year, and that Alanna be forbidden all contact with her." Everyone in the room winced, and Daine shook her head; the Lioness would not have taken that news well.

"Jon agreed to that?" Onua asked.

"He had no choice," Gary explained. "The war left us vulnerable. He needs to keep the conservatives happy. Alanna argued with him, and he had to put her down quite hard because Wyldon was still in the room; she lost her temper and stormed out."

"If she'd just waited until Wyldon had left..." Raoul muttered. "She must have known Jon couldn't let her challenge him publicly."

"So what do we do now?" Buri asked.

"First, we need to try and contact Alanna," Myles said. "Numair?"

There was a pause while everyone looked at the mage. Daine bit her lip to stop herself grinning; she recognised the faraway look in his eyes. It was obvious that Numair was thinking about something else entirely, as he stared into the middle distance with his chin propped on his hand, and she was pretty sure she knew _what _he was thinking about, too.

"Numair," Myles repeated more sharply.

Lindhall, who was keeping silent and listening without comment, shifted position, looking innocent; Numair yelped. "There's no need to kick me," he said crossly. "I was listening."

"Really?" his old teacher murmured. "Because it looked like you were daydreaming."

"Mindelan's daughter. Probation. Alanna's forbidden to interfere and went off sulking. See?"

Gary shook his head. "This is important, Numair. Stop thinking about whichever woman gave you that bruise on your throat, and focus." The mage went red, hastily tugging the neck of his shirt closed, and Daine fought her own blush; she hadn't even noticed that she had given him a lovebite, and judging by his expression nor had Numair. _Oops. _Onua snickered, and Buri was trying not to laugh outright; everyone else looked amused.

"Can you contact her?" Myles asked finally, taking pity on him.

Looking grateful for the distraction, Numair shrugged. "I can try, but if her temper is really that bad then she won't answer." He held out a hand, and a ball of black fire hovered above his palm. "Alanna," he called softly. "Alanna." Cocking his head, he listened for a moment and sighed. "Sir Alanna of Pirate's Swoop, don't ignore me. You know I'll keep pestering you until you give in." After another pause, he grinned mischievously. "Alanna, I'll start singing in a minute. There's a couple of new ballads making the rounds that I think you'll like." Raoul snorted, and even Gary's stern expression softened.

"Go away, Numair," the Lioness' voice snapped finally, just as the mage was taking a deep breath.

"That's not very nice."

"I'm not in a very nice mood."

"You don't say?" Numair exclaimed in a mock-astonished tone, grinning.

"I'm serious. Go away."

"Not this time." Numair's tone had turned equally serious. "Where are you?"

"None of your business."

He sighed. "Alanna, we both know I can find out. Unless you took an amulet with you, you can't block my scrying. Please save me the effort and just tell me."

"Why should I?"

"Because – for once – it's not me you're angry with."

There was a long pause; Numair was focusing on the black flame in his hand now, and he held up a hand when Gary opened his mouth to speak. Finally Alanna muttered ungraciously, "I'm headed south. I'm going to visit the Bloody Hawk for a while. At least _they _don't see women as weak."

"That was childish," Numair said mildly. "You challenged Jon in front of one of his chief opponents among the conservatives; he couldn't let you get away with it. You know he doesn't think women are weak." There was no answer; Gary scrawled the word _George? _on a scrap of paper and held it up. Numair nodded. "Are you going to call at the Swoop first?"

"No. I'll visit them when I come back from the Bazhir. I sent word to George."

"Oh, well, that's all right, then."

"Damnit, Numair, this isn't my fault. Stop trying to make me feel guilty."

His tone was still mild, but there was an edge to his voice now. "If you're feeling guilty, it's your conscience at work and nothing to do with me. Or maybe it's because you know that you're running away, and feeling a bit cowardly?"

Raoul winced and covered his eyes.

There was no answer; after a moment the flame in Numair's palm spat purple sparks as Alanna ended the spell. Closing his hand to snuff out the fire, Numair settled back in his chair and grinned wryly. "That went rather well, I thought."

"Are you insane?" Gary asked. "She's going to kill you."

"From the desert? I think I'm safe." He shrugged and grinned again. "Alanna likes being angry. If she's stewing at me, she's not sulking and feeling hurt because of Jon. The realm doesn't care if the Lioness is annoyed with me, but we're going to feel it if the King and his Champion start feuding." When everyone stared at him, Numair's grin broadened. "Even when I'm daydreaming, I pay attention."

"True," Lindhall observed. "It's one of your more annoying traits, and one that drove your teachers to distraction."

"You're in a strange mood this morning," Onua remarked thoughtfully, studying the mage.

He shrugged again, still smiling. "I'm happy."

"For you, that is pretty strange," Buri said dryly. "It might be safer for you if you went back to moping and being depressed. You got into less trouble that way."

"He wouldn't be Numair if he didn't keep getting into trouble," Daine said absently, the first thing she had said since the meeting started; the comment earned laughter from everyone present, including Numair himself.

* * *

_This chapter is a bit shorter than I wanted, but this was a good place to stop. Darned reality, keeps intruding and ruining some perfectly good fluff. I wonder what Numair might have had planned for the morning? Heh. Anyway, they've finally remembered that there actually are other people in the world, and life is still going on around them. Alanna gets on my nerves when she sulks; I'm not Jon's biggest fan, but he didn't have much choice this time._

_Also, I love writing Numair when he's half asleep. People who aren't morning people can be very cute when they have to get up early.  
_

_Next chapter is one of those annoying transition chapters with lots of little things that need to happen, and it's irritating me, so it might take a while for me to get it uploaded. Bear with me; it will (hopefully) be worth it. It has silliness with horses in it! Who doesn't love that? More fluff, too, with luck. And the chapter after that is going to be a lot of fun. Oops, I'm teasing again, aren't I?  
_

_**Loten.**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**Notes: **Today's birthday dedication is to **Madame Star** - I said I'd try my best! This is setting a rather worrying precedent, though... please understand that much as I would love to, I can't possibly update on everyone's birthday! The first part of this chapter is pure silliness; yep, you guessed it, it was another late-night last-minute rewrite. I really must stop doing that. The rest of it is the annoying transition I warned you about, but it's necessary. It's not as long as I'd like, but I'm saving the next scene for the next chapter.  


* * *

_

The meeting had broken up shortly after that; the conclusion had been that there was nothing they could really do until Alanna's conscience pricked her into returning, except try and make sure Jon didn't lose his temper and hope that there wasn't an emergency. Numair had been collared as soon as they left by Harailt, and Daine took Kitten and headed down to the stables with Onua, deciding that she was better off working than daydreaming.

"Did you think Numair was acting strangely today?" the K'mir asked thoughtfully. "More so than usual, I mean?"

Daine shrugged and smiled. "I don't know, Onua. He's been acting fair strangely since – well, since Carthak, really. He seems more like himself now, actually."

"You might have a point there. He hasn't mentioned anything to you, then?"

"He doesn't tell me everything, you know," she said wryly.

"Don't be so sure, Daine. Numair talks to you far more than he does anyone else. I don't know if you've ever realised, but the way he behaved around you when you first met is unheard of for him; he's never made friends with anyone so fast." Onua shrugged and smiled in turn. "Well, anyway, he seems a lot more cheerful these days; I just wondered if you knew why."

"He hasn't said anything specific," Daine said truthfully. She was a far better liar these days than she had been at thirteen – although she still couldn't fool Numair for long – but she didn't want to chance it; besides, she'd never liked not being honest with her friends. She grinned. "This is Numair; he's always daydreaming about something. He's easier to be around now he's not depressed, that's all I know."

"Good point. Well, I'm for the Riders' stables; Sarge wants me to look at some of the spare mounts. Want to help?"

Daine shook her head. "Maybe later. I need to see to Cloud first."

"All right. I'll see you later, then." Waving, the K'mir left, much to Daine's relief; Onua was her oldest human friend, but she could be really annoying if she was determined to learn something. Then again, it was hardly surprising that she was suspicious, given how Numair had been acting this morning; suppressing a smile with some difficulty, Daine shook her head and ducked into the stables.

–_There you are at last,_– the pony greeted her wickedly. –_We wondered if you'd ever surface. Did you have fun?_–

The realisation that in all likelihood, every single one of the People inside her full fifteen-mile range probably knew what had happened last night was extremely unwelcome. Her face flaming, Daine wondered frantically if there was any way she could stop Numair finding out; she doubted he would be happy either.

–_Not _all _the People,_– Spots said kindly. The gelding hung his head over the door of his stall, managing to look far more amused than any horse should be able to manage. –_Only the ones closest to you. You didn't shout it to the world._–

–_Not with magic, anyway,_– Cloud added; had she been human, she would have been sniggering.

–_Shut up!_– Daine snapped, still fighting to stop blushing as she entered the pony's stall and automatically began to groom her. The barb had struck home; she suspected she should be very grateful for the wards around Numair's rooms.

–_Oh, don't sulk,_– the mare sniffed. –_You act as if you are the only one who has ever mated. Even for you, it's normal._–

Spots leaned over the partition between their stalls and nipped her rump. –_Don't tease,_– he ordered, before turning curious eyes to Daine as she left the stall. –_Why are you embarrassed?_– he asked.

It was a good question, she reflected as she thought about it. –_I don't know,_– she replied finally. –_I s'pose because it's so new. I'm not used to it yet._– She could feel their incomprehension; this was the problem with trying to talk to the People about personal matters. Horses didn't attach importance to the same things. –_It's a two-legger thing._–

–_Foolishness,_– Cloud said dismissively. –_Mating isn't that important._–

"How would _you _know?" Daine said tartly. "You've never mated, and Spots was gelded when he was a colt, so I don't see why I should listen to anything the pair of you have to say about it."

A familiar deep laugh was all the warning she had before a pair of strong arms snaked around her waist. "Is this a bad time?" Numair murmured in her ear, his breath warm on her skin.

"Gods, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Sorry," he replied insincerely. "I thought you'd heard me. You usually do. Unless you were too busy with what sounded like a very interesting argument?" He chuckled softly and kissed her neck. "I believe we've talked before about why you shouldn't speak aloud."

"Oh, hush," she grumbled, leaning back against the solid warmth of his body. "I've had about all the teasing I can take this morning."

"I don't want to know, do I?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then I won't ask."

"Not that I'm complaining, but aren't you supposed to be working?"

"Yes," he agreed mildly. "Weather scrying, to be exact, which I hate. Not only is it extremely dull, but whatever I see, I won't be able to do anything about it. It's also remarkably imprecise."

"So you thought you'd scare me half to death instead?"

He laughed softly. "Not at all; I was working like the good obedient mage I occasionally am. But for some strange reason I couldn't concentrate enough to achieve anything," he informed her sardonically, before chuckling again and nuzzling her neck. "Veralidaine Sarrasri, what have you done to me?" he asked rhetorically, his lips moving against her skin. "I can't focus on anything. I've been grinning like a fool all day. I deliberately provoked the Lioness earlier; even by my standards, that was incredibly poor judgement on my part. I'm starting to annoy myself now, never mind everyone else."

"That's hardly my fault," she protested half-heartedly, turning her head to look up at him and trying not to smile; it felt absurdly wonderful to realise that she really was responsible for his almost giddy mood. And, truthfully, her own concentration was absolutely non-existent this morning.

Numair raised an eyebrow. "Well, it certainly wasn't anyone else."

"You don't need anyone else's help to act silly," she pointed out, and he grinned at her.

"True, but this is different." Turning his head, he glanced at the horses. "Enjoying the view, you two?" he asked sarcastically.

–_Bah. We see two-leggers frolicking in the stables all the time,_– Cloud snorted. Smothering laughter, Daine relayed this comment to Numair, who shook his head and grinned.

"Fair enough. What does she really think, though?"

Daine asked, and waited for the wisecracks to stop long enough to get a serious answer from her pony. "You don't want to know everything she said," she replied finally, smiling, "but she doesn't disapprove – that's a direct quote. I think you can translate that as approval, or at least she's not going to bite you."

"I'm honoured," he responded dryly, pulling away from Daine and fishing an apple out of his pocket, twisting it neatly into two halves and offering one to the mare. He held the other out to Spots. "What about you, sir?" he asked the gelding.

–_What _do _you think?_– Daine asked the piebald in turn. –_Will we work out?_–

–_Do you really have to ask?_– Spots asked mildly, crunching the proffered apple. –_He's never been this happy since I've known him._– Finishing the fruit, the gelding regarded his master for a moment before shoving his nose against Numair's chest. –_This is as it should be. You've both been alone too long._–

Smiling, she translated for the mage's benefit. "He approves. Don't worry, you're not going to be kicked out of the herd."

He snorted. "What a relief. What about Kitten – actually, where _is _Kitten?"

"Playing with Tahoi, last I saw her. It's hard to tell, but I don't think it really makes much difference to her. You've been her da for years, after all." His answering smile was almost embarrassed, but he was obviously pleased, before his expression changed.

"Hello, Onua," he called.

The K'mir gave him a reproachful look from the doorway. "Stop distracting my workforce, Salmalín."

"But I was bored."

"Then go and find something else to do. I think a messenger brought a letter for you earlier."

Numair suddenly looked worried. "Oh. All right."

"Expecting bad news?" the Horsemistress asked, giving him a concerned look.

"I hope not," he muttered, before smoothing his expression. "I'm sure it's fine, but I'd better go and see. I'll see you later, magelet?" he added, glancing at Daine; she knew what he was really asking and nodded, wondering uneasily whether the letter was the one he obviously thought it was and what it would say. He smiled at her, nodded to Onua and left.

* * *

What with one thing and another, Daine didn't manage to see him again until that night. As she let herself in to his rooms, she reflected absently that sooner or later she was probably going to get caught doing this; the other option, _not _doing so, wasn't even worth considering, though. Numair was stretched out comfortably in front of the fire, apparently engrossed in a book, but as soon as she came in he looked up and smiled. "Hello."

"Hello, yourself." She flopped down next to him and sighed, moving to lean against him, and he put his book down to slide an arm around her shoulders.

"Long day?"

"You could say that," she agreed wearily, smiling wryly at him. "Some of us actually did the work we were supposed to."

He grinned, completely unashamed. "More fool you, then."

"You seem cheerful."

"Don't you start," he protested playfully. "Everyone's been acting like it's a sin for me to actually be happy. It's starting to get on my nerves."

"You'll survive, but I didn't mean that. You looked worried earlier; what was in the letter?"

"Oh, that." He shifted and settled more comfortably. "As you probably guessed, it was the reply from my mother. And my father, and my grandmother, and... most of my relatives, actually, which I really wasn't expecting. But it was much more positive than I thought it would be, which is a relief." He smiled. "I definitely made them all very curious; they want to know all about you, magelet."

She studied his face, frowning slightly; something about his voice seemed off, somehow. "Have you... Numair, have you been crying?" she asked, blinking. He avoided her eyes.

"No." After a moment he shifted again, fidgeting a little. "Well, maybe, a little." He looked back at her and smiled sheepishly. "Pathetic, isn't it? I don't know, I just... I'd convinced myself they wouldn't want anything more to do with me, after so long. I wasn't really expecting their reaction."

"That's not pathetic." Truthfully, she thought it was sweet, but she suspected Numair wouldn't appreciate that observation. "It's nice they all wanted to talk to you. You shouldn't lose touch with them, especially not over this."

"It makes me wish I'd tried to make things right years ago, really," he commented absently, relaxing again. "Ah well, hindsight is a wonderful thing."

* * *

A week later, George sent word from the Swoop; Alanna had given in, or got over her fit of temper, or allowed herself to be persuaded. Whatever had happened, she was coming home. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that she was still angry with Jon, but as long as she was keeping it private, everyone could heave sighs of relief and let themselves relax.

Life was moving on, as the kingdom began to settle down into its old routines once more. There was plenty of work for Numair and Daine to do close to home, which they were both quite happy with; neither of them were eager to return to riding all over the country for weeks on end. They were significantly _less _happy to learn that the proposed celebratory ball that Jon had been talking about was going ahead and that they were both required to be there, and immediately appealed to Jon to be allowed to miss it.

Unfortunately, the king had a secret weapon, and remained impassive under the combined weight of Daine's wide-eyed pleading and Numair's legendary eloquence; when the two mages finally ran out of arguments, Jon simply shrugged and told them, "Thayet wants you both there." The two exchanged glances, knowing when they were beaten, and grudgingly surrendered.

"You said we'd be able to get out of it," Daine complained as they left.

"I can't be right all the time. Anyway, if you want to go and argue with Her Majesty in the middle of organising a party, go ahead, but I quite like my skin intact."

"Coward."

"Absolutely."

She sighed. "I really don't want to go."

"Nor do I," he agreed softly, "but it's only one evening. And maybe we can try and get away early."

"Now that sounds like a much better idea," she replied, smiling up at him. Since that first time, they had spent every night together; it was surely only a matter of time until they got caught, but neither of them considered stopping. If nothing else, it had allowed them to get used to the situation; Numair still had a tendency to grin at odd moments, but he had managed to stop openly daydreaming and they were both able to behave more circumspectly now.

* * *

So it was that Numair found himself a few nights later getting ready for a celebration he had no interest in attending. He was in a fairly dark mood as he scowled at his reflection; he had no wish to have to endure the sight of his Daine dancing with anyone else, knowing he wasn't allowed to step in, or trying to avoid the eyes of any other woman who might want to dance with him when he had no desire to do so. He'd had more than enough of that last Midwinter. It wasn't precisely jealousy, he reflected as he did up his shirt, not any more, because at least now he _knew _she was his, but that didn't make it any easier to live with.

_It's only for a few hours, _he told himself yet again. Surely he could put up with it and maintain his distance for a few hours, especially knowing that she would be returning here to his rooms, to his bed afterwards. Even so, it didn't sit easily with him; he didn't like the thought of the coming pretence. Restless, he finished dressing, reluctantly donning the black robe once more and wondering idly if he could persuade Kitten to 'accidentally' get her claws caught in the fabric.

"This is stupid," he muttered aloud to the empty room, realising that he'd started pacing. "I'll kill someone if I go down like this." Turning, he returned to the bedroom and settled cross legged on the bed, closing his eyes and slowing his breathing as he fell into the familiar rhythms of meditation; really, this wasn't a big deal. He'd cope with it, as he had before, and there would be a much happier outcome at the end of the night. Instead of drinking alone, or just moping around _wanting _to drink alone, he'd be here with the woman he loved.

Numair felt much calmer when he opened his eyes. Standing, he stretched and smoothed the stupid robe, absently checking his reflection a final time before heading to the door. Pausing for a moment in the hallway outside, he considered for a moment, then smiled grimly and shut the door behind him as he came to a decision.

* * *

_Have I mentioned before just how much I love writing the horses? They're so much fun, and sometimes it does my muse good to switch to a nonhuman perspective for a while._ _We're drawing near to the end of the story now. I've got one more chapter planned after the next one, and there might be one more after that, but that will be it._

_The next chapter is going to be a lot of fun, I hope. It's completely written already, but it needs polishing before I upload it, and I've got a few things on this week so I'm not sure when it will be. Hopefully Friday, but if I don't manage it, then almost certainly at the weekend. Patience; I promise you're going to like it. What has Numair decided, I wonder?_

**_Loten._**


	9. Chapter 9

**_Notes: _**_Hey, how about that, I'm updating on time! You should all be grateful I decided not to play an April Fools trick on you all yesterday... I had some truly evil ideas that would have resulted in you all banding together to form a lynch mob and coming to hunt me down. Anyway, a few people guessed what Numair might have decided... let's see if you were right, shall we?  
_

_

* * *

_

The ball was dragging terribly now, Daine mused. She didn't like occasions like this very much anyway, but this was torture. Once again her eyes were drawn across the room to where Numair stood by the wall, staring into the depths of his wine glass as though seeking the meaning of life in the dark liquid. He had arrived late and he'd been avoiding her all evening; she had known he would need to keep his distance, but not to this extreme – she hadn't even spoken to him tonight. She might have taken it personally, except that he was avoiding everyone else as well – as much as was possible in a crowded ballroom – and was obviously thinking very hard about something. Even at this distance she could see the furrow between his eyebrows and could picture the way he would be biting his lip at one corner. If she had to guess, she'd have said that he was arguing with himself.

The music changed; it was time for the slow dances to start. In the past, that had been her excuse to leave, but she was older now and therefore bound by the same unwritten rule that controlled their group of friends – nobody could leave until Raoul had managed to escape. Irritatingly, the Knight Commander was still here, and talking to Jon himself, which meant he wouldn't be getting away any time soon. Unfortunately, the invitations to dance that she had been dodging all evening were going to get more insistent, if last Midwinter had been anything to go by, but there was only one man she wanted to dance with tonight... She found her gaze drawn to her lover once more; as she'd observed years ago, he could generally sense when he was being watched, and now his head came up slowly and his eyes met hers.

He broke the stare to glance down at his glass again, then abruptly lifted it and drained it in one long swallow. Whatever internal debate had been raging through him, he seemed to have come to a decision, and she watched curiously as he put the empty glass down and looked back at her before pushing away from the wall and starting to walk through the crowd towards her.

Something had changed, she realised slowly. The way he was moving was... different, almost predatory, the way he moved when he was on the way to a fight; he was almost stalking across the floor. As he drew nearer, she could see his expression more clearly; his eyes were a shade too bright and there was a clear edge of nervousness in his grin. It was the look he got when he was about to do something reckless that he knew would get him into trouble, and she started to wonder uneasily just what he was planning; she strongly suspected that his Player's streak was well and truly in control at the moment. He paused briefly as he passed the musicians, speaking softly to one of them, and the music changed again to a popular slow waltzing tune that was more common at Beltane or Midwinter; it wasn't really a celebratory tune. Turning away, he continued walking towards her, staring at her intently the whole way across the floor.

When Numair reached her the touch of nervousness in his face was more pronounced, but there was a hint of almost amusement in his eyes as well and something about the set of his mouth told her he was fighting not to laugh; despite that, he still looked worried. It wasn't a good combination of emotions, really, and she wasn't surprised that everyone in their little group was watching him with puzzled expressions. Meeting his too-bright eyes as his nervous grin faded, Daine raised an eyebrow, silently asking just what he thought he was doing. His eyes were very dark tonight, she noticed; they tended to change colour with his mood, sometimes. From their usual warm honey brown they could darken to something closer to sienna or lighten to almost gold, and she'd seen them burn almost true black and seem to glitter with the fire of his magic in extreme circumstances. Right now, the look in their dark depths was one she had never seen in public, as he stopped in front of her and bowed formally as he would to any noble of the court.

"May I have the pleasure of this dance, my lady?" he asked quietly, his voice a little deeper than usual and very serious, at odds with the jumbled emotions in his eyes. He'd asked her to dance many times over the years, his manner playful, joking; she hadn't been on the receiving end of his serious flirting before, and the look in his eyes made her shiver as she understood what he was doing and why. That faint edge of worry hadn't gone, only been hidden behind the other feelings in his face, and it was that more than anything that helped her decide her answer as she curtseyed formally to him in return.

"I would be honoured, sir," she replied steadily, proud that her voice wasn't shaking as a buzzing filled her ears. She held her hand out to him; he took it and raised it to his lips, kissing her knuckles lightly, and kept hold of her fingers as he led her out onto the dance floor and drew her into his arms.

"Everyone's staring at us, aren't they," she mumbled as the music started in earnest.

"I haven't dared look, but I would imagine so, yes," he replied a little unsteadily, nervous laughter colouring his tone.

"Why tonight, why like this?" she asked, looking up at him.

He grinned somewhat sheepishly. "I couldn't stand it any more," he told her honestly. "And truthfully... I've been thinking about telling our friends for a while now. I simply couldn't think of a graceful way to start the conversation."

"Me neither," she admitted, fighting a sudden urge to laugh. _We're as bad as each other. _"How do you think they're going to react?"

His smile turned wry. "Magelet, unless I am very much mistaken, most of them already know," he told her ruefully. "Neither of us have been particularly subtle, I'm afraid."

"That doesn't really answer my question," she pointed out uncertainly, suspecting that he was probably right. Onua had been giving her some long looks recently, ever since that long walk back to Legann after the battle, in fact, and she knew Alanna was suspicious.

"No, I know." They continued to dance in silence for a few moments before he sighed, his arms tightening a little. "I don't know. I'm hoping they won't mind too much..." His voice betrayed his worry for a moment before he looked down at her, something fierce and determined entering his eyes. "But if they do, I don't care."

"Agreed," she replied, leaning her head against his chest, happy to be able to touch him openly – even if they did end up paying for it later. Wary, she risked a glance around and stifled a groan. "_Everyone's _staring, Numair." Not only their friends, but what seemed to be the entire court.

"Try not to think about it," he murmured. They had both been talking so softly that nobody could possibly have heard, not even the few other couples dancing nearby; quiet though his voice was, she could hear his embarrassment. "I hadn't intended it to be quite this public," he added ruefully, a hint of laughter in his eyes as he looked down at her. "Yet another plan that didn't work the way I meant it to, it would seem."

"Are you sure you're actually intelligent?" she asked mischievously. "Your plans _never _seem to work the way you mean."

"Only when you're involved," he retorted. "Mithros was right, you do cause chaos everywhere you go."

"This particular chaos is all your fault."

"True."

"What was the second part of your plan?"

"There wasn't one. It rather depended on there being a few more people around us, as a sort of protective camouflage. I had hoped that when the dance ended, we would be able to simply walk over to our friends and have a civilised discussion."

"And now?"

"I'm giving serious thought to making a run for it."

"_Not _helpful."

"It wouldn't work anyway. I wish they'd all stop staring, though." He grinned suddenly. "We could always give them something to _really _stare at..." he suggested impishly.

"Don't you dare," she said warningly, shivering as his fingers began to trace down the length of her spine. "That really would make things worse. Behave yourself, Master Salmalín."

"Yes, dear," he replied meekly, trying – and failing – to look innocent. She couldn't help but smile; the half-guilty, half-mischievous grin he wore made him look about seven years old. "The dance is going to end in less than a minute," he said finally, automatically moving into the final steps.

"We'll have to face them sooner or later. It might as well be now. I don't like being stared at this much, though – you'd think we'd grown extra heads or something."

"They're all just jealous," he replied, sounding a little more confident. His teeth flashed white against his dark skin as he grinned at her. "You must admit, magelet, we're worth staring at. You look... absolutely breathtaking tonight."

"You're not so bad yourself," she admitted, flushing slightly at the compliment.

The music faded and they reluctantly separated; Numair bowed to her before moving in and kissing her swiftly. It was only a chaste brush of lips, but she knew it had been meant as a statement to everyone watching. Taking her hand, he took a deep breath and looked at her, his head slightly on one side. "Shall we?"

"Might as well," she agreed with forced nonchalance, turning with him as they walked slowly towards their friends, who were all gathered in a knot at one side of the room and were staring with an interesting variety of facial expressions ranging from open amusement – Lindhall – to annoyance – Alanna – and everything in between.

"Well, look who finally woke up," Buri observed loudly to Onua, smirking.

"It's about time," Onua agreed, eyeing the pair and shaking her head.

"You knew, I assume," Numair said quietly, trying to sound calm and unruffled; Daine could feel that his palm was damp as he held her hand.

"Yes," Buri, Onua, Thayet and – somewhat out of place – Lindhall chorused. Alanna merely nodded stiffly, arms folded across her chest.

"I didn't," Raoul said plaintively, looking a little bewildered.

"Nor did I," Jon added, giving his wife a meaningful stare that she returned blandly.

"Are you both blind?" Buri asked mildly.

"Apparently," Jon muttered, shaking his head. "How long has this been going on?"

"That's a complicated question," Numair replied slowly, smiling hesitantly. "Technically, only a few weeks..." He paused, frowning slightly, obviously wondering how much to say, then shrugged and continued quietly, "I realised how I felt at Midwinter."

"That long ago?" Onua asked. "And you've only just got together?"

"I didn't exactly admit it to anyone," Numair replied a little defensively.

"You kept silent for half a year?"

"Yes."

"That's... I was about to say it wasn't like you, but actually it's just the kind of stupid, insane attempt at chivalry I'd expect from you. And I suppose it explains why you were acting even more strangely than usual."

"Thanks," he replied dryly, starting to relax a little.

"What about you, Daine?" Thayet asked. "When did you realise?"

"I didn't, not in the same way. I knew something had changed, but there was so much else going on, and... I s'pose I didn't want to think about it. I didn't really admit it until after I found out how Numair felt," she explained. Truthfully, neither of them were sure exactly when it had started.

"So what changed?" Jon asked softly. "If I know you at all, Numair, if you decided to keep silent you'd have done so until you died. Why did you change your mind?"

He smiled crookedly. "Daine almost got killed. _Again,_" he added with a playful glare at her. "In the Divine Realms, after the spidren attack. I thought she was dead, and when I realised she wasn't..." He trailed off, looking somewhat embarrassed.

Thayet pointed a finger at him. "You are never allowed to mock my romantic and sentimental tendencies again, master mage." He smiled sheepishly and ducked his head a little.

"Can't the two of you do _anything _normally?" Buri complained, grinning.

"Apparently not," Onua replied ruefully before either of them could reply. The Horsemistress' expression turned serious. "I have one question, Daine. Are you sure about... this?" _About him _was the implied question.

"Yes," she answered firmly, meeting her friend's gaze steadily. Onua looked at her for a long moment before nodding and smiling once more.

"Well, that's good enough for me."

"And me," Thayet echoed. Buri and Raoul nodded agreement, the latter still looking somewhat bewildered.

Jon frowned at Numair. "Is this real, Numair?"

"Yes," he replied quietly. The king nodded slowly and stepped back.

After a long and somewhat uncomfortable pause, Numair broke the silence. "Alanna... you haven't said anything yet."

The Lioness' voice was cool. "You lied to me in February."

Numair looked puzzled for a moment before understanding lit his eyes and he shook his head hastily. "No, I didn't. It was true when I said it."

"Said what?" Daine asked, confused.

He looked at her. "When you were ill with unicorn fever. Alanna asked if there was anything between us, and I said no."

"You said there wasn't and there _never would be_," Alanna said pointedly.

"I didn't think there ever would be, when I said it," he replied helplessly. "I never intended to say anything to Daine. It..."

"It 'just happened', is that what you were going to say?" she asked cuttingly. He flushed slightly and nodded, shifting uneasily under her stare. "How many times have I heard that from you, Numair?"

"Too many," he mumbled, dropping his eyes. "It's different this time, Alanna."

"Different how?" she challenged him.

Daine watched Numair take a breath and straighten, lifting his head to meet her gaze almost defiantly. "This time I'm in love."

"I've heard that before, too."

"No, you haven't," he said quietly. "Not from me. I've never lied to a woman to bed her, Alanna, and I'd never lie about something that important. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

There was another pause. Alanna looked slightly less angry, puzzlement showing through, but the argument was obviously far from over. The Lioness turned her violet eyes to Daine. "Daine, you know what he's like as well as I do."

"Yes," she agreed neutrally, privately suspecting that she actually knew Numair a lot better than anyone else in the room.

"So... why? You know Numair's never committed to one woman in his life. He wouldn't know what love felt like if it spat on him. This can't possibly go anywhere. What do you think is going to happen? That he's going to ask you to marry him?"

Numair spoke into the ringing silence that followed, while Daine struggled not to slap her friend. "Actually, Alanna, I already have," he said coolly.

"Have what?"

"Asked Daine to marry me." Everyone present looked utterly stunned, even Lindhall's eyes widening in surprise. Numair looked annoyed. "Thank you for that flattering response," he said sourly.

"I don't see a ring," Onua managed to say hoarsely.

He smiled crookedly. "She said no."

"Don't be so dramatic," Daine said tartly, elbowing him. "I didn't say no. I said maybe."

"That's true," he conceded, smiling slightly as he looked around. "Close your mouths, all of you," he recommended wryly. "You look like stunned fish."

It was Alanna who spoke next, looking uncertain and no longer angry. "You actually proposed?"

The edge of annoyance in Numair's eyes faded as he regarded his friend. "Yes," he replied softly. "And I meant it." They stared at one another for a few moments before his eyes softened further. "I really do love her, Alanna. I promise you that. I wouldn't lie about something like this."

"No, you wouldn't," she agreed slowly, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. It's just... I've known you for a long time, Numair. I think the longest you've ever been with one woman was three days."

"I know," he agreed soberly. "It's not something I'm proud of. But that was then. This is now."

"Be honest, Alanna," Onua said quietly. "Can you really see either of them with anyone else?"

"Nobody else would put up with Numair for more than a few hours," Buri agreed mockingly.

"If you're all finished making fun of me..." Numair began.

"We're not," Onua interjected, smirking at him. "Not even close." Turning, she fixed Daine with a meaningful stare. "We're going to have a long conversation tomorrow, miss. I want _all_ the details."

She felt herself start to blush and fought it desperately, trying to ignore Numair snickering. Valiantly attempting to change the subject, she asked, "You'd all guessed already?"

"Not exactly guessed," Thayet said thoughtfully, "although in hindsight we really should have done. I suspected you would eventually end up together, but I didn't think it would be so soon – then again, I didn't expect a war. That tends to change things."

"I knew," Lindhall said quietly. He'd been silent the entire time, watching the conversation with a faint smile.

"How?" Numair asked plaintively. "It wasn't _that _obvious..."

"Numair, I've known since the first time I saw the pair of you together. I was on the dock when you arrived in Carthak, although understandably I don't think you noticed me. You were standing by the rail; I hadn't seen you in eight or nine years but I could still tell how tense you were, how angry and afraid. Then Daine came over to you; I recognised her instantly from your descriptions. I'd wondered about the two of you anyway, just because I'd never known you to talk about anyone else like that. You turned and saw her; I watched your face. All that anger, all the fear, the hatred and the tension – it was suddenly just... gone. It was only for a moment, but it was enough to make me wonder. Ever since then, I've been watching you, especially after it was over and you'd both survived everything that happened. Every time you see her, you react, your whole posture and expression change – it was more obvious after you returned from the Divine Realms, but nothing that wasn't there before. I don't understand why nobody noticed. I certainly don't understand why _you _didn't. I thought you were smarter than that."

By the time Lindhall had finished speaking, Numair looked acutely embarrassed, smiling somewhat shamefacedly at his former teacher. "Apparently not..."

"You're absolutely hopeless," Alanna told him tartly. She had started to smile now and seemed less angry, more amused.

"Yes, but you already knew that," he replied, relaxing at last.

* * *

"That got somewhat annoying before the end," Numair observed much later as he peeled off his shirt and tossed it carelessly across the room.

"What did?" Daine asked sleepily, watching him from the bed.

"Every single one of our friends drew me off to one side and warned me that if I ever hurt you I would live to regret it. There were some quite creative threats." He grinned at her. "None that quite matched your mother's, though, I have to say."

"I can imagine," she murmured. After a moment she said reflectively, "Not all our friends, though. Lindhall didn't, did he?"

"No," he replied hesitantly, frowning slightly. "How did you know that?"

"Because he cornered me and told me not to hurt _you._"

There was a long pause. "Really?" he asked softly after a while.

"Really. It was sweet." She smiled at him. "I always wondered where you got your protective streak from. You're actually a lot like him, you know."

"Not enough to do me much good," he replied ruefully, freeing his hair from its surprisingly neat tail and running his fingers through it, shaking the black curls loose. "He manages to avoid stupid or dangerous situations. He never managed to teach me how to do that."

"Numair, I don't think _anyone _could teach you to do that," she told him in some amusement, scooting over in the bed to let him slide under the covers beside her. "Tonight went well, though. Seems we got away with it."

He smiled ruefully. "Don't be so sure, magelet. We had the advantage of surprise. Tomorrow the gossips will be out in force." He grinned in sudden mischief. "In fact, there's only one solution."

"And what's that?" she asked warily, sure that she would never, ever trust that grin again.

His eyes danced with laughter. "Neither of us will be able to leave this room again."

"Oh, shut up." Smothering a laugh – no point in encouraging him any further – she smiled and leaned in to kiss him gently before rolling over. "Good night, Numair."

He settled against her back, moulding himself against her body as though he'd spent every night of his life sleeping with her like this, and nuzzled the back of her neck as he draped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. His voice was a deep rumble against her back. "Good night, love."

* * *

_Oh, Numair. He was never going to do anything conventionally, was he? He's so totally the type for big flashy gestures, and he really would find a stunt like this far easier than actually _telling _people. Although he's right, there's no graceful way to say it, is there? "Oh, hello everyone, we're sleeping together." Anyway, Buri's first line to Onua is canon, from TP's wordpress site; that was the only thing I had to go on, so the rest is from my twisted mind. Alanna's not really angry, by the way - she just doesn't like surprises. And yes, she has made amends with Jon at some point, but our protagonists weren't paying much attention.  
_

_The notion of Lindhall as 'one of the girls' struck me as ridiculously amusing... he's the only male in their little group to have worked it out. If you remember, there were hints right back in Divine Intervention that he knew more than he was letting on. And speaking of Lindhall, you're going to see why he felt it necessary to warn Daine when everyone else was busy warning Numair, but I don't know when. I'm going to try very hard to work it in to this story, but if I don't manage to, then it's going to have to go into Lacunae because I like the idea too much not to write it. You'll see.  
_

_There will be two more chapters after this (possibly three if I manage to get that Lindhall conversation in). Unless I have another insane moment of late-night inspiration, that will be it. However, this chapter was my original end point, so none of the final chapters have been written yet; they exist only as rough notes. And given that it's Easter and there are things going on, it might be as long as a week before I manage to get the next update done - we'll see. I'll do my best to update earlier for you all, though. And if it helps, you'll like the next chapter - it's going to be something of a reunion. And lots of arguments, because guess what? Numair's going to do something stupid! No angst, though, it's not Daine he argues with. I'm prepared to bet nobody's going to guess what's going to happen; feel free to try, though!  
_

_**Loten.**_


	10. Chapter 10

**_Notes: _**_Firstly, I want to apologise for this chapter being so late. I've been pretty busy with one thing and another, and when I finally got the chance to write, I just couldn't get into a Tortallan frame of mind, so I've been working on other fics to try and kick my muse into action._

_Secondly, in a slight change to our schedule, this is not the chapter I had planned. Originally this was going to be the autumn equinox, and Weiryn and Sarra were going to visit, and Numair was going to have a flaming row with Weiryn about what a terrible father he'd been. Battling through my writer's block, I got about half way through that story and realised that I absolutely hated it. It came across as very out of character, in the end, and I simply couldn't get it to work. After some thought and a couple of attempted rewrites, I scrapped it completely, and I don't plan to go back to it._

_So this is actually the Lindhall chapter I mentioned before, and the next and final chapter will be the epilogue. Thank you all for your patience.  
_

_

* * *

_

Numair's idea about simply never leaving his rooms again was definitely starting to sound welcome by this point. The palace gossips were bad enough with only rumours to fuel them; armed with solid proof, they'd exceeded all previous records. Daine had never been so grateful to be a shapeshifter; it made it easy for her to escape when she really needed to. It was surely only a matter of time before Numair lost his temper; she was hoping that the gossips would either get bored or find something new to discuss before he reached that point.

At the moment the mage was ostensibly working; he would shortly have a new class to teach, after all. Privately Daine doubted he was getting anything done, but he was at least making the effort, so she'd left him to it and come to find a new source of refuge – Lindhall's rooms. She liked the older mage, and although he hadn't been in Tortall very long he was rapidly adding to his already quite extensive collection of animals.

He was also deceptively easy to talk to, and it was quite a while before she could work around to the real reason she had come to speak to him. "Lindhall?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"I wanted to ask you about what you said to me after the ball..."

"Oh?" The mage's blue eyes sharpened a fraction, belying the dreamy exterior, but his smile never faltered. "What about it?"

"Well, everyone else was telling Numair not to hurt me. You're the only one who did it the other way around. I just... wondered why."

"Not because I believed you would hurt him, Daine, at least not deliberately. But Numair is... a strange man in many ways."

Daine grinned. "I know _that._"

"Quite." Lindhall smiled again. "Perhaps 'complex' would be a better word in this scenario. There are a lot of contrasts in his nature – do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

She frowned, thinking about it. "I think so. I always thought it was a shame that he has to do so much fighting and killing, when he hates it so much – is that the kind of thing you mean?"

Lindhall nodded. "That's a very good example; it's almost tragic that a man as gentle as he is should have to be a war mage. In any case, the point I wished to make here is that, outwardly, Numair seems confident and cheerful and as though nothing really seems to touch him, but that isn't strictly true. Those he is close to have always been able to hurt him. It's how I always knew he was never truly serious about Varice, because when they argued – and they did, frequently – he grew annoyed and frustrated but never particularly upset. And it's a very large part of the reason why he suffered so much after what Ozorne did; it was never about the physical pain. I don't know how much of the story he's told you...?"

"Most of it," Daine said quietly. "He told me what happened, what was done to him and what he did, and what happened after he got away. The only part I don't know is what Ozorne asked him to do that made him say no."

"I don't know that part either, but I have my suspicions. It isn't particularly important now, anyway – my point is that whatever happened to Numair, he got over it reasonably quickly. It was the fact that it was Ozorne that almost destroyed him. Whatever Ozorne thought, Numair was truly his friend, and the betrayal was worse than any torture the Emperor could have devised. Numair can ignore almost anything from the vast majority of people, but even a harsh word from someone close to him cuts him to the bone."

Daine thought about this; it made sense. Numair frequently argued with all his friends and drove them all regularly to distraction, but now that she really thought about it, he had never to her knowledge seriously fought with any of them, and she had noticed a long time ago that he never challenged them beyond a certain point – Carthak was the perfect example. Had Jon not been his friend, she suspected he never would have gone, no matter the consequences of his refusal. And she had seen frequently over the years that his self esteem was surprisingly low, given who and what he was. Looking back at Lindhall, she nodded slowly.

The older mage wasn't smiling now; his expression was earnest and serious. "Then you understand my concern, Daine. Numair is absolutely devoted to you, anyone with eyes can see that – although I do wonder about the majority of people here, since so many seemed to miss it so completely," he added a little more lightly, before turning serious once more. "I just want you to be aware of how much power you have over him. You could break his heart with one wrong word, as melodramatic as that sounds. I'm sorry if it seemed like I was accusing you; I know you love him."

"It's all right," she replied, still thinking. "It's good that someone's looking out for him. And it's nice that someone doesn't think I'm the helpless one at his mercy," she added wryly. Lindhall was right – if Numair hurt her, it would be bad, but she would eventually get over it. If she hurt him, she didn't think he would. _Just as well it's not going to happen then, really. _She smiled at the older mage. "You care a lot about him, don't you, sir?"

Lindhall smiled back at her. "The habits of so many years are hard to break. Arram was my student and later my friend for a very long time – eight years, all told, before he left Carthak, and once he had come to Corus we were constantly writing to one another and sometimes fire-speaking. And really, he did need a lot of looking after when he was a boy," he added dryly.

Daine grinned. "I can imagine." She'd heard enough about Arram Draper over the years to see him as a more naive and thoughtless, less human version of Numair; it was easy to imagine the kind of chaos he would have found himself in, even without magic. "What was he like back then?" she asked mischievously; Numair refused to tell her many stories about his childhood, which meant there were surely some embarrassing tales somewhere.

Lindhall smiled and settled back in his chair. "When I first met him, he was an absolute little tearaway," he said almost fondly. "I wasn't impressed at first glance – he looked like he had been running wild in the marshes. He was dirty, his hair was a mess, his clothes were worse and he clearly wasn't pleased to see me. But he was polite and well spoken and obviously intelligent, and he knew how important it was that he learn to control his magic, so he didn't waste time arguing the inevitable. And when I showed him what his Gift looked like, I remember the look on his face – not just excitement, but as if the world suddenly made sense at long last, and I knew he would go a long way. I didn't guess just how far at the time," he added with a wry smile.

"He didn't fit in with the other students, and from what I saw, after the first few incidents he didn't bother trying. I believe he still holds the record for the student who spent most time in the Healer's quarters – he got into fights as regularly as your young pages seem to, which is unusual for Carthak's student mages. Arram never did learn to hold his tongue – if he heard something he disagreed with, he jumped straight in and said so, and never mind if he was hopelessly outnumbered. His heart was always in the right place, but I never managed to get him to stop and think first, not when he was convinced that he was right. It was his biggest flaw – it developed into a kind of arrogance that worried me. When I suggested that he might think about going for the black robe, it was only partly because of his strength – I hoped the extra study would steady him, but if anything it made it worse."

"What changed, then?" Daine asked curiously – certainly Numair wasn't like that now. He did have the occasional reckless moment, usually when he was being terribly overprotective or when he was extremely frustrated by something, but nothing like what Lindhall was describing.

"The final test for the black robe," Lindhall replied softly. "It is a strange system. In the Carthaki university, most of the final tests are straightforward, a set of exercises assessed by a senior mage of that discipline. Because of who and what the black-robed mages are, that test is very different – apart from anything else, there usually isn't another black robe around to judge the student. I don't know how the Mithran academy does it; I imagine it is similar to Carthak. As far as I can tell, the test seems to be similar to the Tortallan knights' Ordeal, although Numair assures me different magic is involved – there is a room under the university. The prospective mage enters. He may come out wearing the black robe, or he may not come out at all, and there may or may not be a body to retrieve. It isn't a test you pass or fail – it's a test you survive or don't. I don't know what happens inside; nobody does, except the black robes who pass through and – presumably – the mages who built it in the first place."

Daine listened thoughtfully – she knew Numair didn't like the Chamber of the Ordeal here. Alanna had told her that the first time Numair had seen it he had started shivering, muttered something about strange and ancient magic making his skin crawl and left as soon as he could, and he didn't willingly go near it now – which was unfortunate for him, since as he was the most powerful mage available, he tested the Chamber's defences every winter to ensure that it had not been tampered with. If it reminded him of his own testing, that might explain his reluctance.

Lindhall sighed. "It was Arram who decided that he wanted to take the test early. I still don't know what pushed him into it, but I would guess it was at least partly because he wanted to gain his robe at the same time as his classmates rather than remain a student while they moved on. I disagreed with him, but he was determined – he was always stubborn. He talked me into submitting his name, eventually. I think, had I known anything about the test then, I would have refused, but I thought it was largely about magical ability, and he certainly had that. I have no idea what happened to him inside that room; he has never said anything about it. But when he came out, he was different."

"Different, how?" she asked softly.

"Quieter, more thoughtful. There was an almost haunted look in his eyes for a few days afterwards; whatever happened to him, he didn't like it. He kept to himself a little more, he began to distance himself from the few friends he had, and he seemed to spend a lot of time thinking. He didn't wade into conflicts any more and he was less overt in declaring his opinions, more cautious. He was still terrible at noticing what was happening around him, often utterly oblivious, easily distracted, slightly obsessive – he was still _Numair, _in other words – but that arrogance was gone. I believe something about his testing frightened him; I also believe it saved him. He never belonged in Carthak."

"Nor did you, sir," Daine said impulsively.

Startled, Lindhall blinked at her, before smiling ruefully. "Perhaps not. I never intended to stay long – originally I was teaching a short course for one or two years, no more. I found that I enjoyed teaching, and when I found students like Arram with that degree of enthusiasm and intellect, I enjoyed it more. Later, as the imperial line became progressively less stable and the Empire started to grow darker, I stayed to help people. What little loyalty I still had towards Carthak died the night an explosion ripped half the palace foundations to shreds and I heard Arram calling me and I saw what had been done to him just because he said no to Ozorne. It's still the worst thing I have ever seen – I did what I could, but I felt sure that he would die of his injuries long before he managed to escape."

"He says he was too stubborn to die," she ventured, and Lindhall chuckled softly.

"That sounds about right. I didn't hear from him for almost two years – I heard that he evaded the guards in Tyra; Ozorne was furious, although what he thought would happen when he sent them after a terrified and angry black robe, I don't know. Then, after I had long since given up hope, I received a letter from him telling me that he was in Corus and working for the King of Tortall – I've still got the letter somewhere, actually."

"Was it safe for him to write? If someone had seen it..."

"It wasn't his writing, and it wasn't signed," Lindhall explained, smiling. "He wrote it left handed – he can write very well with both hands, but they look completely different. We wrote to one another almost every week, exchanging news. Someday I shall have to show you the letters that came after he met you – he went on for pages and pages about you."

Daine eyed him suspiciously – she _did _know Numair, after all. "What did he say?" she asked warily.

Lindhall chuckled. "Nothing bad, I assure you; rather the opposite. You impressed him enormously. As I mentioned at the ball, I half-suspected how he felt about you long before I met you; seeing the two of you together only confirmed my suspicions, and that was before Ozorne made the incredibly stupid mistake of kidnapping you to get to Numair. I've never seen him like that before and I devoutly hope that if the gods are kind, I will never see him like that again."

"That bad?" she asked uncertainly. "Ozorne gave me dreamrose, so I saw bits and pieces, but not much."

The mage sighed, his bright eyes shadowed. "I was terrified of Numair during those few days. I really thought he had lost his mind. He made Ozorne look sane, during the worst of it. You wouldn't have recognised him, Daine – there was no trace of the gentle man we know. I don't know how he stopped himself from going after Ozorne."

"He said the Graveyard Hag stopped him."

"I know that's what he said," Lindhall replied quietly, "but I don't think it would have been enough. For you, he would face far worse than one of the Greater Gods. I warned him that he was going to get himself killed, and he looked at me with an expression I have never seen before and told me calmly that if it saved you, he didn't care."

That did sound very like Numair, Daine had to admit. The two of them looked at one another seriously, before Lindhall broke the mood by laughing. "And the fool still didn't realise that he was in love with you. I love Numair like a member of my family, but I am constantly amazed at how he manages to miss things."

Daine started to laugh as well. "In his defence, I missed it as well, and he realised before I did."

He shook his head. "And he was very subtle about it, as I recall," he observed dryly. "The only reason he escaped notice for so long is that the war seemed to distract everyone else from wondering what was making him so upset."

"Except you, I take it?"

Lindhall smiled. "Numair doesn't get depressed. He gets angry or upset, and then he moves on. Moping around for months on end isn't like him; it drew my attention, and since he spent all your time together either avoiding looking at you or staring miserably at you when he thought nobody could see him, it was fairly obvious."

"If he was so upset, I would've thought you would try and push us together a bit sooner," Daine commented.

"I'm no matchmaker. In any case, I knew I didn't need to; I haven't known you as long as I've known him, Daine, but you're much easier to read. And I saw the look on your face in Carthak when I told you about Varice," the mage added, raising an eyebrow and smiling; she scowled and ducked her head, trying not to blush. "I also saw what you did to the palace when you believed that he was dead," Lindhall continued, "and unlike your friends, I know how to add two and two. I knew all I had to do was wait. The two of you are made for each other."

"You think so?" she asked almost shyly.

"You don't?"

She smiled. "Well, yes."

"There you are, then." Lindhall smiled back at her. "Don't listen to anyone else, Daine. You love him and he loves you; that's what's important. And I for one can't wait to see what sort of strangeness the two of you will achieve after everything that's already happened. Now, if she is agreeable, I'll keep Kitten entertained for a while; Bonedancer has wanted to see her, I believe."

She smiled slowly as the dragonet chirped and uncurled, jumping down from her lap and trotting over to Lindhall. Standing and stretching, Daine moved over and leaned down to kiss the man's cheek. "Thank you, sir."

"I don't know what you're talking about, my dear. Be on your way now."

* * *

She found Numair in the corridor outside his rooms, which was odd. Approaching him quietly, Daine studied his face; he was looking at the wall with a look of rueful amusement. "Hello."

Turning, he smiled at her; she had always loved his smile, the way it started in his eyes and brought out every colour in them. "Hello, yourself."

"Aren't you supposed to be working?"

"I was interrupted by a pair of workmen." He jerked his head at the patch of wall beside the door that he had been looking at. "It's certainly a nice gesture, but I don't think Jon realises that I haven't actually asked you yet."

Puzzled, Daine came closer, and blinked at the second name plate that had been added under his own. The sight made her feel warm – and it was true that she hadn't actually slept in her own room in weeks. After a moment she smiled and asked, "Do I take this as a royal command to move in with you?"

Numair looked a little surprised, before grinning at her in honest joy. "Oh, definitely."

"Well, I can't argue with that."

"In my experience, magelet, you can argue with anything," he corrected her dryly. "Where have you been?"

"Talking to Lindhall about you."

"Oh, gods." He shook his head. "Everything he said was a lie."

"You'd better hope it wasn't. No, it was a nice talk – no embarrassing stories this time, but he's promised to tell me later."

"It'll all be lies."

"I doubt it."

He smiled at her, before frowning and looking down the corridor. "Is Kitten not with you?"

Daine smiled back at him slowly. "Lindhall offered to babysit."

His smile broadened, heat beginning to creep into his expressive eyes. "Is that so? In that case..." Before she could protest – not that she had been going to do so – he scooped her up into his arms, kissed her soundly, and kicked the door shut behind them.

* * *

_It's a relief to have actually managed to write something at last. I really am sorry for keeping you all waiting so long. I hope it was worth it – I quite like this. It's nice to get a different point of view sometimes, and Lindhall is just awesome anyway. _

_I admit that my idea of the test for the black robe is partly based on the Ordeal of Knighthood, but it's also based on quite a few different fantasy authors; tests for sorcerers are fairly common in fantasy, after all! Such as Raistlin's test in the Dragonlance novels, or Milamber's test in Raymond E Feist's stories, or the test for Aes Sedai in the Wheel of Time books... you get the picture.  
_

_Anyway, the next chapter is going to be the last, and you all know what that means – one of my trademark fluffy epilogues. I don't plan to keep you waiting as long, this time! We're going to see some nostalgia with an old friend and some humour as well as fluff before the story comes to a close._

_**Loten.**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**Notes: **__Good grief. I am so, so sorry for keeping you all waiting, but I simply could not get this right. I hereby promise faithfully to never, ever start uploading an unfinished story again - I assure you, I've been just as frustrated as you all have. This has been rewritten so many times; I just hope it was worth it, and that I haven't given anyone ridiculously high expectations by the long delay._

_

* * *

_

Some weeks later, Numair stood alone on the walls of Pirate's Swoop, gazing reflectively out at the dark sea as the night breeze stirred his clothing. He heard light footsteps behind him but didn't turn around; the newcomer was Alanna, who leaned against the walltop beside him. "I'm surprised to see you up and out; it's the middle of the night."

"Daine's out flying," he explained. "Owl shape."

"And you're not with her?"

"Hawks have terrible night vision. I wouldn't be able to see a thing. She's a much better flier than I am anyway." He looked at his friend. "Why are you awake? It's late."

"It's early, actually," she corrected him dryly. "I don't know, really. I couldn't sleep, and my fidgeting was keeping George awake."

"There's a lot of that going around at the moment," he agreed quietly. Everyone he had spoken to about it was either plagued by nightmares, or just by odd, restless dreams. The war had unsettled everything, at least for those who knew what had really happened. She nodded, and they stood in silence for a while. An owl hooted nearby, and he grinned as he raised his hands to his mouth and responded.

Alanna stared at him. "That's not normal, you know."

"Don't be silly. I've been making animal noises to amuse your children virtually since they were born; why do you think they preferred my bedtime stories to yours?"

She made a face. "Good point. Was that Daine, then?"

"No."

"How do you know?"

He shrugged. "I just do."

"What were you saying?"

Amused at finding himself playing teacher once more, Numair smiled. "Nothing, really. Most animals don't have a spoken language, as such; they speak mind to mind. The sounds are... signals, I suppose; warnings to stay away from their territory, or trying to attract a mate, or sometimes just to say that they're present. Audible emotions."

"Is there anything you don't know everything about?"

"The contents of a woman's mind," he replied instantly. "Complete mystery to me, and to every other rational person in the world."

"Very funny." She mock-scowled at him and he smiled back. "You know, I'd forgotten how annoying your grin really is. Can't you go back to being miserable?"

"Apparently not," he replied sorrowfully, shaking his head at her before returning his gaze to the distant ocean. Kitten's mother lay out there somewhere, under the calm waves, and he didn't know who her father was. Her grandparents hadn't mentioned him. _Ironic, really, _he realised – Daine and Kitten had had very similar starts in life. They had lost their mothers in tragic circumstances and hadn't known their fathers. Filing the thought away for more careful consideration later, he cleared his mind and returned to his silent contemplation; peace was a novelty that had yet to wear off.

Alanna seemed to feel the same; the two of them stood for quite a while without speaking, each lost in their own thoughts. When she finally did break the silence, it caught him by surprise. "We've come a long way, haven't we, Arram?"

Surprised to hear his old name again, he looked down at her and felt himself smiling. "We have, at that," he agreed quietly, thinking back over the years. He grinned. "Remember when we met?"

She snorted. "You attacked me with a knife so rusty and blunt that a spoon would have been more effective, and you were so thin I broke your arm by accident just holding you down, your bones were that brittle. Of course I remember."

"You do realise I was trying to make you kill me, rather than just being stupid, right?" he asked mildly. He didn't much like thinking about that day. He had known he was finally beginning to die, and he had realised that the Lioness was following him; he couldn't have got away without using his Gift, and he had had no intention of being captured, so he'd taken the only way he had left.

"I worked that much out when I had my sword at your throat and you tried to sit up onto the blade." She grinned up at him. "Idiot. I sometimes wonder if I shouldn't have let you."

"But think of all the fun you would have missed out on over the years if you had."

"Fun. Is that what you call it? I can't say I enjoyed most of it. And I don't recall you enjoying it much, either."

"There were a few... memorable moments," he said reflectively, before grinning at her again. "And admit it – can you really see yourself doing anything else?"

Alanna tried to glare at him, but her lips were twitching, and finally she laughed softly. "No, not really. But what about you? We both know you would be locked up in your tower next to a pile of books higher than even your head, if you had your way."

"I'm not sure I would, actually..." he said pensively.

"Oh, _really? _Locked up with something else, then?"

He started to laugh. "I didn't actually mean that, you know – although it's definitely a thought; I wonder if Jon would agree to let us both stop working and disappear?"

"No."

"Pity. Anyway... I don't think I could go back to that sort of life, now. I never thought I would say this, but I think I would actually get bored."

"Really?"

Numair shrugged. "I think so. The past few years have been... fairly strenuous, after all; it's been difficult to settle into a quieter routine, the few chances I've had." He laughed softly. "And come on, Alanna – given the people in my life, I think it's safe to say I'll never get the chance to be bored again." An owl screeched out in the darkness, and he nodded towards the sound. "_That _was Daine."

"Serves you right." Alanna grinned. "But you've got a point – she did rather turn your life upside down. Not that you seem to be objecting."

He grinned back at her. "Definitely not. I'm ridiculously, nauseatingly happy."

"I'm glad," she told him more seriously, resting a hand on his arm. "You always seemed somehow on the edge of things, before, as if you were never quite sure you belonged."

He nodded slowly. "That's more or less it," he agreed. "But I've found where I belong now."

"Gods, you're right, you are getting nauseating," she laughed, breaking the mood and playfully cuffing his arm. "I'll remember this later, next time you start teasing me."

"I have no doubt of that whatsoever," he agreed dryly, looking down at his oldest friend. "I'd better head back in, I suppose – Kitten's probably awake by now; she doesn't really like being separated from both of us for long, after we vanished so suddenly."

"I can't blame her for that. If it weren't for the badger, I might have thought you'd done it deliberately – you couldn't have caused more chaos if you'd tried." He huffed in mock indignation, and she grinned at him. "That dragon's almost like a child to the pair of you, isn't she?" she added more thoughtfully. "You've been a family for a long time."

He smiled sheepishly. "Tkaa tells me that she calls me Papa," he admitted softly, remembering how pleased he had been when the basilisk had told him.

"All right, I'm as moody and cynical as they come, and even I think that's sweet," Alanna conceded, before grinning impishly at him. "When's she going to get some siblings, then?"

Numair burst out laughing. "You're worse than Thayet, and I didn't think that was humanly possible," he retorted breathlessly when he could speak. "Not for a long time yet, I assure you. Give us a chance – I've got to talk her into marrying me, first!"

She snorted. "You'll nag her into it eventually. Knowing you, you're probably already carrying a ring around with you just in case."

"I am not!" he denied. It was actually in a locked and warded drawer in his desk, but that was completely beside the point. "Anyway, it's only been a couple of months. I'm in no hurry. The whole crowd of you will have to wait a bit longer to indulge yourselves – or," he added as an afterthought, grinning, "you could interfere in each other's lives and leave mine alone for once."

"Never. We get far too much entertainment out of the pair of you to let this drop in a hurry."

"Can't you have some more children or something? That ought to keep you out of the way for a while."

"Watch it, or you're likely to get an owl landing on you from out of thin air."

"She's miles away at the moment, she's used to me, and she's probably fed up with all the gossip as well," he replied mildly, grinning when she gave him an exasperated look.

"Fine then, go off to your blissfully happy existence," she groused. "I'm going to go and complain to my husband." As he turned away, she caught his arm and squeezed lightly. "I _am _happy for you both, Numair. Really, I am. I even forgive you for lying to me."

"I wasn't lying to you, I was lying to myself," he pointed out logically, smiling at her. "But thank you. I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

He was almost asleep when he heard the faint rustle of wings from the open window. Opening one eye, he blinked drowsily and saw Daine's silhouette against the window as she regained human form. "Hello," he told her softly. "Have a nice flight?"

"Oh, yes," she agreed, closing the window and smiling at him over her shoulder. "It's a beautiful night out there. Cold, though."

Taking the hint, he moved over, and she grinned as she slid under the blankets to curl up against him; he smothered a yelp. "Mithros, magelet, you're freezing. Are you mad?"

"Wimp." She snuggled closer, and he relented and wrapped his arms around her. "What were you and Alanna talking about?"

"Oh, the usual. Life, the universe and everything." He closed his eyes. "Us, mainly. She's finally got used to the idea, I think – or at least, she's forgiven us for surprising her. The Lioness has never liked surprises."

"True." She began absently tracing patterns on his chest with her fingertips, and he shivered.

"Your fingers are icy," he complained, catching her wrist.

"So warm me up, then," Daine replied mischievously, smiling at him.

Smiling back at her, he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers, her skin cold on his lips. "Gladly," he murmured, shifting closer as she reached to kiss him. As the kiss deepened, he reflected that what he had said to Alanna was absolutely right – he had found where he belonged.

* * *

_Well, there you have it. I'm not entirely sure this was worth the wait! Shamelessly corny, I know, but you should all expect that from me by now - I do like my happy endings. I think we've come full circle with some Numair/Alanna banter at the Swoop, hence my little bit of nostalgia (and possibly some foreshadowing of my Arram stories, if you squint)._

_This is the last TP story you're going to be seeing from me for a long time, I'm sorry to say. That Arram story I just mentioned is in development, but there are a lot of other fics from other genres that I want to tackle first. I'll still be updating _Lacunae_ every so often_, _and you can keep an eye on the Works in Progress section on my profile to see what I'm working on at the moment; I haven't gone anywhere, I promise._

_I want to thank all my readers, especially those who take the time to review. You guys are awesome, and it really does mean a lot to me. I hope to see you all soon.  
_

_**Loten.**  
_


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